U.CO.  UBRA8/ 


' 


*'  *  X 


COLORADO 


A  SUMMER  TRIP. 


BY 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


NEW  YORK: 
G.  P.  PUTNAM  AND   SON,   661   BROADWAY. 

1867. 


•  •    A*   r%     I  I B  !ft  Jk  IVtf 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

BAYARD  TAYLOR, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


RIVERSIDE,   OAMBRIDaB: 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 

H.  0-  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


THESE  letters,  originally  published  in  the  New  York 
Tribune,  are  reproduced  in  this  form,  in  order  to  meet 
the  demands  of  a  general  interest  in  the  regions  they  de 
scribe. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.    A  GLIMPSE  OP  KANSAS 1 

n.    ON  THE  FRONTIER 8 

III.  UP  THE  SMOKY  HILL  FORK    .        .        .        .16 

IV.  CROSSING  THE  PLAINS 26 

V.  THE  KOCKY  MOUNTAINS  AND  DENVER  .        .      34 

VI.  FARMING  IN  COLORADO       ....         41 

VII.  ENTERING  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  .  .  49 

VIII.  CENTRAL  CITY  AND  BLACK  HAWK  .  .  55 

IX.  MINING  AND  MINING  PROCESSES  .  .  .61 

X.  To  IDAHO  AND  EMPIRE  ....  70 

XI.  CROSSING  THE  BERTHOUD  PASS  ...  78 

XII.  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK  .  .  88 

XIII.  THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK       .        .        .97 

XIV.  FINAL  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK    108 
XV.  Two  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  PASSES  .        .        .        116 

XVI.  THE    ARKANSAS    VALLEY    AND    THE    TWIN 

LAKES 126 

XVII.    IN  THE  SOUTH  PARK 135 

XVIII.  THE  RETURN  TO  DENVER        .        .        .        .144 

XIX.  A  TRIP  TO  BOULDER  VALLEY    ...        153 

XX.  COLORADO  AS  A  SUMMER  RESORT.        .        .    161 

XXI.  HOMEWARD,  ALONG  THE  PLATTB        .       .        168 

XXH.  GLIMPSES  OF  NEBRASKA  ....            178 


COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 


A   GLIMPSE   OP  KANSAS. 

LAWRENCE,  KANSAS,  June  8,  1866. 

WHOEVER  visits  Kansas  has  the  choice  of  two  routes 
from  St.  Louis,  —  the  North  Missouri  Railroad  to  St.  Jo 
seph,  and  the  Pacific  Railroad  to  Kansas  City.  The  for 
mer  is  three  hundred  and  five  miles  long,  and  the  trains 
run  at  the  rate  of  twelve  and  a  half  miles  an  hour ;  the 
latter  has  a  length  of  two  hundred  and  eighty-three  miles, 
and  a  speed  of  fifteen  miles  an  hour  is  attained.  The 
former  has  the  advantage  of  sleeping-cars  ("  palaces,'*  I 
believe,  is  the  western  term  —  at  least  in  advertisements), 
the  latter  of  finer  scenery.  Having  had  a  dismal  experi 
ence  of  the  former  road  some  seven  months  ago,  I  chose 
the  latter,  and  have  been  well  repaid. 

In  the  United  States,  railroads  avoid  the  finest  scenery, 
the  best  agricultural  regions.  This  is  especially  the  case 
in  the  West,  where  settlement  followed  the  rivers  and  the 
old  emigrant  roads,  forming  belts  of  tolerably  thorough 
cultivation,  between  which  the  country  —  even  in  Indiana 
and  Ohio  —  is  still  comparatively  rude.  It  is  only  within 
a  few  years  that  railroads  have  begun  to  lead,  instead  of 
follow  settlement,  and  the  line  may  soon  be  drawn  beyond 
which  they  will  represent  the  most  rapid  growth  and  the 
best  cultivation. 
1 


2  COLORADO:   A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

This  reflection  was  suggested  to  me  while  observing  the 
country  opened  to  the  traveller's  view  by  the  Pacific  Rail 
road,  between  St.  Louis  and  Jefferson  City.  There  are 
but  three  points  which  are  at  all  picturesque,  —  the  wooded 
and  rocky  banks  of  the  sparkling  Meramec,  and  the 
mouths  of  the  beautiful  Gasconade  and  Osage  Rivers,  — 
and  none  which  exhibit  much  more  than  the  primitive 
stage  of  agriculture.  Yet  the  upland  region,  a  few  miles 
south  of  the  line  of  the  road,  is,  I  am  told,  rich,  well- 
farmed,  and  lovely  to  look  upon. 

Even  when  one  reaches  the  Missouri,  there  is  little  in 
that  ugliest  of  all  rivers  to  divert  one's  attention.  A  single 
picture  of  the  swift  tide  of  liquid  yellow  mud,  with  its  dull 
green  wall  of  cotton-wood  trees  beyond,  is  equivalent  to  a 
panorama  of  the  whole  stream.  For  the  seventy  or  eighty 
miles  during  which  we  skirted  it,  the  turbid  surface  was 
unrelieved  by  a  sail,  unbroken  by  the  paddles  of  a  single 
steamer.  Deserted,  monotonous,  hideous,  treacherous,  with 
its  forever-shifting  sands  and  snags,  it  almost  seems  to  re 
pel  settlement,  even  as  it  repels  poetry  and  art. 

I  travelled  as  far  as  Jefferson  City  in  worshipful  society, 
—  five  handcuffed  burglars,  three  of  whom  had  been  Mor 
gan's  guerrillas.  One  of  them,  in  utter  opposition  to  all 
theories  of  physiognomy,  strongly  resembled  a  noted  re 
former.  As  the  other  passengers,  in  referring  to  incidents 
of  the  war,  always  said  "  Rebels  "  instead  of  "  Confeder 
ates,"  I  inferred  that  their  political  condition  was  healthy. 
Emigration  is  still  rapidly  pouring  into  the  State,  and,  as  a 
young  man  from  one  of  the  way-stations  said,  —  "  If  we  were 
only  all  Black  Republicans,  we  'd  soon  have  the  first  State 
in  the  West." 

When  the  road  leaves  the  river,  it  enters  one  of  the  love 
liest  regions  in  the  United  States.  The  surface  is  a  rolling 
prairie,  yet  with  a  very  different  undulation  from  that  of  the 
rolling  prairies  of  Wisconsin  and  Northern  Illinois.  The 
swells  are  longer,  with  deeper  and  broader  hollows  between, 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  KANSAS.  3 

and  the  soil  appears  to  be  of  uniform  fertility.  On  either 
side  the  range  of  vision  extends  for  eight  or  ten  miles, 
over  great  fields  of  the  greenest  grass  and  grain,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  orchards,  and  crossed  by  long,  narrow 
belts  of  timber,  which  mark  the  courses  of  streams.  The 
horizon  is  a  waving  purple  line,  never  suddenly  broken,  but 
never  monotonous,  like  that  of  the  prairies  east  of  the  Mis 
sissippi.  Hedges  of  Osage  orange  are  frequent ;  the  fields 
are  clean  and  smooth  as  a  piece  of  broadcloth ;  the  houses 
comfortable,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  of  that  rough 
ness  and  shabbiness  which  usually  marks  a  newly  settled 
country.  I  have  seen  nothing  west  of  the  Alleghanies  so 
attractive  as  this  region,  until  I  left  Leavenworth  this 
morning. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Sedalia,  four  or  five  hundred 
farmers,  mostly  from  Ohio,  have  settled  within  the  past 
year.  I  hear  but  one  opinion  in  regard  to  the  country 
south  of  the  railroad,  extending  from  the  Osage  River  to 
the  Arkansas  line.  Climate,  soil,  water,  and  scenery  are 
described  in  the  most  rapturous  terms.  One  of  my  fellow- 
passengers,  pointing  to  the  beautiful  landscapes  gradually 
unrolling  on  either  hand,  said,  —  Uhis  is  nothing  to  it !  " 
Yet  I  was  well  satisfied  with  what  I  saw,  and  feasted  my 
eyea  on  the  green  slopes  and  swells  until  they  grew  dark  in 
thejwilight. 

On  reaching  Kansas  City,  the  train  runs  directly  to  the 
levee,  and  the  traveller  is  enabled  to  go  directly  on  board 
the  Leavenworth  boat,  thus  escaping  the  necessity  of  stop 
ping  at  the  hotel.  I  was  very  grateful  for  this  fact,  and 
having  already  seen  the  forty  miles  of  cotton-wood  and  yel 
low  mud  between  the  two  places,  took  my  state-room  with 
an  immense  sensation  of  relief.  We  reached  Leavenworth 
at  nine  o'clock,  in  three  days  and  ten  hours  from  Philadel 
phia. 

This  is  the  liveliest  and  most  thriving  place  west  of  the 
Mississippi  River.  The  overland  trade  has  built  it  up  with 


4  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

astonishing  rapidity,  and  it  now  claims  to  have  a  population 
of  25,000.  Kansas  City,  its  fierce  rival,  having  suffered 
more  than  one  blockade  during  the  war,  Leavenworth  shot 
into  sudden  prosperity  ;  but  now  that  trade  has  returned  to 
its  old  channels,  Kansas  City  expects  to  recover  her  lost 
ground.  It  is  a  subject  of  great  interest  to  the  people  of 
the  two  places,  and  many  are  the  speculations  and  predic 
tions  which  one  hears  from  both  sides.  As  to  the  present 
ascendancy  of  Leavenworth,  however,  there  is  no  question. 
The  town  has  both  wealth  and  enterprise,  and  its  people 
seem  to  me  to  be  remarkably  shrewd  and  far-seeing.  In  the 
course  of  three  or  four  weeks  the  two  places  will  be  con 
nected  by  a  railroad  which  follows  the  west  bank  of  the 
Missouri. 

The  Union  Pacific  Railroad  (Eastern  Division)  opened 
its  branch  road  to  Lawrence  in  May,  and  trains  now  run 
regularly  upon  it,  connecting  with  the  main  line  for  Topeka 
and  —  San  Francisco.  One  of  my  objects  in  visiting  Col 
orado  being  to  take  a  superficial  view  of  both  railroad 
routes  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  I  decided  to  go  out  by 
way  of  Fort  Riley  and  the  Smoky  Hill,  and  return  along 
the  Platte  to  Omaha,  in  Nebraska.  My  first  acquaintance 
with  the  Pacific  Railroad,  therefore,  commenced  in  Leav 
enworth.  The  train  starts  from  a  rough  piece  of  ground 
outside  of  the  town,  follows  the  bank  of  the  Missouri  for 
six  or  eight  miles,  and  then  strikes  inland  through  a  lateral 
valley. 

Here  commence  my  new  experiences.  I  have  never  be 
fore  been  west  of  the  Missouri  River.  Let  me  now  see 
what  is  this  Kansas  which  for  twelve  years  past  has  been 
such  a  noted  geographical  name  —  which  has  inspired  some 
thousands  of  political  speeches,  some  noble  poems,  and  one 
of  the  worst  paintings  that  mortal  eye  ever  beheld.  The 
very  repetition  of  a  name,  even  in  the  best  cause,  some 
times  becomes  a  little  wearisome.  I  frankly  confess  I  have 
so  often  been  asked,  "  Why  don't  you  visit  Kansas  ?  "  that 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  KANSAS.  5 

I  lost  almost  all  desire  of  visiting  Kansas.     Now,  however, 
I  am  here,  and  will  see  what  there  is  to  be  seen. 

We  gradually  rose  from  a  bottom  of  rather  ragged-look 
ing  timber,  and  entered  a  broad,  sweeping,  undulating  re 
gion  of  grass.  Cattle  were  plenty,  pasturing  in  large 
flocks,  and  there  were  occasional  log-cabins,  great  fields  of 
corn  where  the  thrifty  blades  just  showed  themselves  above 
a  superb  growth  of  weeds,  and  smaller  patches  of  oats  or 
wheat.  Everybody  complained  of  the  incessant  rains,  and 
this  accounted  for  the  weedy  condition  of  the  fields.  The 
soil  appeared  to  be  completely  saturated,  and  the  action 
of  the  hot  sun  upon  it  produced  almost  visible  vegetable 
growth. 

Here  I  first  witnessed  a  phenomenon  of  which  I  had 
often  heard,  —  the  spontaneous  production  of  forests  from 
prairie  land.  Hundreds  of  acres,  which  the  cultivated  fields 
beyond  had  protected  against  the  annual  inundation  of  fire, 
were  completely  covered  with  young  oak  and  hickory  trees, 
from  four  to  six  feet  in  height.  In  twenty  years  more  these 
thickets  will  be  forests.  Thus,  two  charges  made  against 
Kansas  seemed  to  be  disproved  at  once,  —  drought  and 
want  of  timber,  the  former  being  exceptional,  and  the 
latter  only  a  temporary  circumstance. 

The  features  of  the  landscape  gradually  assumed  a  cer 
tain  regularity.  The  broad  swells  of  soil  narrowed  into 
ridges,  whose  long,  wavelike  crests  generally  terminated 
in  a  short  step,  or  parapet,  of  limestone  rock,  and  then 
sloped  down  to  the  bottom-lands,  at  angles  varying  from 
20°  to  30°.  Point  came  out  behind  point,  on  either  side, 
evenly  green  to  the  summit,  and  showing  with  a  wonder 
fully  soft,  sunny  effect  against  the  sky.  Wherever  a  rill 
found  its  way  between  them,  its  course  was  marked  by  a 
line  of  timber.  The  counterpart  of  this  region  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  United  States  ;  yet  there  was  a  suggestion  of 
other  landscapes  in  it,  which  puzzled  me  considerably,  until 
I  happened  to  recall  some  parts  of  France,  especially  the 


6  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

valleys  in  the  neighborhood  of  Epernay.  Here,  too,  there 
was  rather  an  air  of  old  culture  than  of  new  settlement. 
Only  the  houses,  gardens,  and  orchards  were  wanting. 

As  I  leaned  on  the  open  windows  of  the  car,  enjoying  the 
beautiful  outlines  of  the  hills,  the  pure,  delicious  breeze,  and 
the  bright  colors  of  the  wild-flowers,  the  bottom-lands  over 
which  we  sped  broadened  into  a  plain,  and  the  bluffs  ran 
out  to  distant  blue  capes.  Along  their  foot,  apparently, 
the  houses  of  a  town  showed  through  and  above  the  timber, 
and  on  the  top  of  the  further  hill  a  great  windmill  slowly 
turned  its  sails.  This  was  Lawrence.  How  like  a  picture 
from  Europe  it  seemed ! 

A  kind  resident  met  me  at  the  station.  We  crossed  the 
Kaw  Biver  (now  almost  as  muddy  as  the  Missouri),  and 
drove  up  the  main  street,  one  hundred  feet  wide,  where  the 
first  thing  that  is  pointed  out  to  every  stranger  is  the  single 
house  left  standing,  when  the  town  was  laid  in  blood  and 
ashes,  in  August,  1863.  Lawrence  has  already  completely 
arisen  from  her  ruins,  and  suggests  nothing  of  what  she  has 
endured.  The  great  street,  compactly  built  of  brick,  and 
swarming  with  traffic ;  the  churches,  the  scattered  private 
residences,  embowered  in  gardens ;  the  handsome  college 
building  on  the  hill,  indicate  long-continued  prosperity, 
rather  than  the  result  of  nearly  ten  years  of  warfare.  The 
population  of  the  town  is  now  about  8000. 

This  afternoon  my  friends  took  me  to  Mount  Oread  (as 
I  believe  the  bluff  to  the  west  is  named),  whence  there  is  a 
lovely  view  of  the  Wakarusa  Valley.  Mexican  vaqueros 
were  guarding  their  horses  on  the  grassy  slopes,  and  down 
on  the  plain  a  Santa  Fe  train  of  wagons  was  encamped  in 
a  semicircle.  Beyond  the  superb  bottoms,  checkered  with 
fields  and  dotted  with  farm-houses,  rose  a  line  of  undulat 
ing  hills,  with  here  and  there  an  isolated,  mound-like 
"  butte,"  in  the  south.  It  was  a  picture  of  the  purest  pasto 
ral  beauty. 

A  little  further  there  is  a  neglected  cemetery  where  the 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  KANSAS.  7 

first  martyrs  of  Kansas  —  Barbour  among  them  —  and  the 
murdered  of  Lawrence  lie  buried.  The  stockades  of  the 
late  war,  and  the  intrenchments  of  the  earlier  and  pro 
phetic  war,  are  still  to  be  seen  upon  the  hill.  So  young  a 
town,  and  such  a  history !  Yet  now  all  is  peace,  activity, 
and  hopeful  prosperity ;  and  every  one,  looking  upon  the 
fair  land  around,  can  but  pray  that  the  end  of  its  trial  has 
been  reached. 


n.     . 

ON   THE  FRONTIER. 

JUNCTION  CITY,  KANSAS,  THREE  MILES  WEST  OP  ) 
FORT  KILEY,  June  20,  1866.     J 

As  I  recrossed  the  Kaw  in  order  to  take  the  train  to  To- 
peka,  I  felt  that  my  stay  in  Lawrence  had  been  too  short. 
The  day  was  warm  and  cloudless,  with  a  delightful  prairie 
breeze,  and  the  softly  tinted  dells  beyond  the  Wakarusa 
invited  excursions.  The  main  street  of  the  town  began  to 
swarm  with  farmers'  wagons,  pouring  in  from  the  rich  coun 
try  to  the  south ;  the  mechanics  were  at  work  upon  new 
buildings  in  all  directions ;  the  vans  of  the  windmill  on  the 
bluff  were  whirling  merrily,  and  all  sights  and  sounds  spoke 
of  cheerful  occupation.  Fortunately,  the  people  of  Lawrence 
do  not  expect  their  place  to  become  "  the  greatest  town  in 
the  West,  sir ! "  —  so  they  are  tolerably  sure  of  a  steady 
and  healthy  growth  for  a  good  many  years  to  come. 

I  reached  Topeka— twenty-nine  miles  by  rail-— in  an  hour 
and  a  half.  The  road  is  laid  along  the  Kaw  bottoms,  on  a 
grade  as  nearly  level  as  possible.  The  valley  has  an  aver 
age  breadth  of  five  or  six  miles,  and  the  uplands  on  the 
north  and  south  terminate  in  a  succession  of  bluff  head 
lands,  which,  with  a  general  family  likeness  in  their  for 
mation,  present  a  constantly  changing  variety  of  outlines. 
The  lateral  valleys  repeat  the  features  of  the  main  valley, 
on  a  smaller  scale.  Sometimes  the  bluffs  retreat  so  as  to 
form  a  shelving  semi-basin,  or  amphitheatre,  a  mile  or  two 
deep,  —  a  grand  concave  slope  of  uniform  green,  set  against 
the  sky.  At  intervals  of  two  or  three  miles  the  road  crosses 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  9 

tributary  streams  of  the  Kaw,  flowing  in  narrow,  sunken 
beds,  the  sides  of  which  are  fringed  with  trees.  The  land 
scapes  have  a  breadth  and  harmonious  beauty,  such  as  I 
know  not  where  else  to  find  in  the  United  States,  outside 
of  California. 

Indeed,  there  is  much  in  Kansas  to  remind  one  of  Cali 
fornia.  These  hills,  now  so  green,  must  be  a  golden  brown 
in  the  autumn ;  the  black  soil  takes  or  loses  moisture  with 
equal  rapidity ;  the  air  has  the  same  keen,  bracing  flavor  of 
life ;  and  there  seems  to  be  some  resemblance  in  the  meteor 
ological  conditions  of  the  two  countries.  Certainly,  next 
to  California,  this  is  the  most  attractive  State  I  have  yet 
seen. 

The  grain-fields  along  the  Kaw  bottom  were  superb.  I 
have  seen  no  corn  so  forward,  no  wheat  so  close  and  heavy- 
headed,  this  year.  The  farmers  were  taking  advantage  of 
the  day  to  work  their  corn-fields,  the  most  of  which  were 
in  sore  need  of  the  operation.  Rank  as  is  the  wild  grass 
of  this  region,  the  imported  weeds  have  a  still  ranker 
growth.  Last  year's  fields  are  completely  hidden  under 
crops  of  "horse-weed,"  every  fence-corner  has  a  grove  of 
giant  datura  (Jamestown-weed),  and  the  roads  are  lined 
with  tall  ranks  of  sunflowers.  I  saw  no  garden  that  was 
entirely  clean,  and,  what  struck  me  with  more  surprise, 
no  attempt  at  an  orchard.  The  beauty  of  the  country  lies 
in  its  natural  features;  cultivation,  thus  far,  has  not  im 
proved  it. 

Topeka,  at  present,  is  the  end  of  passenger  trains  on  the 
Pacific  Railroad.  In  another  week,  however,  they  will  run 
daily  to  Waumego,  thirty-five  miles  further,  or  one  hundred 
miles  west  of  the  Missouri  River.  We  landed  at  a  little 
cluster  of  shanties,  newly  sprung  up  among  the  sand  and 
thickets  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Kaw.  Here  an  omnibus 
was  in  waiting,  to  convey  us  across  the  pontoon  bridge  — 
or  rather  two  bridges,  separated  by  a  bushy  island  in  the 
river.  Beyond  these  the  town  commences,  scattered  over 


10  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

a  gentle  slope  rising  to  the  south  for  half  a  mile,  when  the 
land  falls  again  toward  a  creek  in  the  rear.  I  found  com 
fortable  quarters  at  the  Capitol  House.  Mr.  Greeley's 
"  vanishing  scale  of  civilization  "  has  been  pushed  much 
further  west  since  his  overland  trip  in  1859. 

Topeka  is  a  pleasant  town  (city  ?)  of  about  2500  inhab 
itants.  The  situation  is  perhaps  not  so  striking  as  that  of 
Lawrence,  but  it  is  very  beautiful.  Unfortunately,  some 
parts  of  the  place  are  destitute  of  water,  which  must  now 
be  hauled  for  the  supply  of  families.  There  seemed  to  me 
to  be  a  greater  number  of  substantial  private  residences 
than  in  Lawrence.  The  building-stone  —  a  buff-colored 
magnesian  limestone,  easily  worked  —  appears  to  improve 
as  we  ascend  the  Kaw.  It  is  found  everywhere  in  the 
bluffs,  and  the  handsomest  buildings  one  sees  are  those 
constructed  of  it. 

After  calling  upon  Governor  Crawford,  and  all  the  other 
State  officers,  —  of  whom  I  have  to  record  that  they  are 
very  amiable  and  pleasant  gentlemen,  —  a  friend  treated 
me  to  a  delightful  drive  into  the  adjacent  country.  Land, 
he  informed  me,  is  rapidly  rising  in  value  ;  a  farm  adjoin 
ing  the  city  on  the  east  has  just  been  sold  for  two  hundred 
dollars  per  acre.  The  high  price  of  grain  for  several  years 
past,  and  the  present  rise  in  real  estate,  have  been  of  great 
benefit  to  Kansas,  enabling  both  farmers  and  speculators  to 
extricate  themselves  from  their  former  embarrassments. 

It  rained  heavily  during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning 
the  roads  were  changed  from  dust  to  mud.  Nevertheless, 
as  I  had  arranged  to  take  the  overland  coach  at  this  place, 
thus  saving  myself  twenty-four  hours  of  fatiguing  travel,  I 
engaged  a  livery  team  for  Manhattan,  fifty-five  miles  west  of 
Topeka.  But  I  would  advise  any  stranger  visiting  Kansas 
to  make  himself  independent  of  livery-stables,  if  possible. 
The  prices  are  rather  more  than  double  what  they  are  in 
California.  From  Topeka  to  this  place,  my  expenses  for 
livery  teams  have  averaged  half  a  dollar  per  mile  ! 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  11 

Leaving  Topeka  at  nine  o'clock,  with  some  promise  of 
better  weather,  we  crossed  to  the  north  bank  of  the  Kaw, 
and  after  floundering  for  a  mile  or  two  among  mud-holes 
in  the  timber,  emerged  upon  the  open,  grassy  level  of  the 
valley.  The  sun  came  out  bright  and  warm ;  the  bluff 
capes  and  sweeping  hills  glittered  in  the  light,  fading  from 
pure  emerald  into  softest  violet;  tufts  of  crimson  phlox, 
white  larkspur,  spikes  of  lilac  campanulas,  and  a  golden- 
tinted  cenothera  flashed  among  the  grass ;  and  the  lines  and 
clumps  of  trees  along  the  streams  were  as  dark  and  rich 
as  those  of  an  English  park.  The  landscapes  were  a  con 
tinual  feast  to  the  eye,  and  each  successive  bend  of  the 
valley  seemed  to  reveal  a  lovelier  and  more  inspiring 
picture. 

The  larger  streams  we  crossed  —  Soldier  Creek  and 
Cross  Creek  —  did  not  issue  from  close  ravines  between 
the  bluffs,  as  is  usual  in  this  formation,  but  each  rejoiced  in 
its  broad  rich  belt  of  bottom-land,  stretching  away  for  miles 
to  the  northward.  Most  of  these  creeks  are  spanned  by 
bridges,  where  a  toll  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  cents  is 
charged.  Their  waters  are  clear  and  swift,  and  good  mill- 
sites  are  already  being  selected.  The  advantages  of  the 
State,  both  in  regard  to  wood  and  water,  seem  to  me  greater 
than  has  heretofore  been  represented. 

After  a  drive  of  twenty-two  miles,  we  reached  a  neat, 
whitewashed  cabin,  with  the  sign :  "  Hotel,  A.  P.  Neddo." 
The  landlord  was  a  giant  half-breed,  remarkably  handsome 
and  remarkably  heavy,  familiarly  known  as  "  Big  Aleck." 
He  has  four  hundred  acres  of  superb  land,  and  is  accounted 
wealthy.  Big  Aleck  furnished  us  with  a  good  dinner  of 
ham,  onions,  radishes,  and  gooseberry-pie.  Among  the 
temporary  guests  was  an  Irish  teamster,  who  had  a  great 
deal  to  say  about  Constantinople  and  the  Sea  of  Azof. 

Within  four  miles  of  Topeka  commences  the  Pottawot- 
tamie  Reservation,  which  extends  westward  along  the  Kaw 
for  twenty  or  thirty  miles.  Many  of  the  Indians  are  now 


12  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

obtaining  patents  for  their  share  of  the  land,  in  order  to 
sell  to  emigrants,  and  in  a  few  years,  doubtless,  the  entire 
reservation  will  thus  be  disposed  of.  Here  and  there  a 
wretched  cabin  and  a  field  of  ill-cultivated  corn  denotes 
the  extent  of  Pottawottamie  civilization.  We  met  a  num 
ber  of  Indians  and  squaws  on  horseback  —  one  of  the  lat 
ter  in  a  pink  dress  and  wearing  a  round  hat  with  upright 
feather,  and  her  hair  in  a  net.  A  little  further,  we  came 
upon  a  mounted  band  of  twenty  or  thirty,  all  drunk.  My 
driver  showed  a  little  uneasiness,  but  they  drew  aside  to  let 
us  pass,  and  a  few  hoots  and  howls  were  all  the  salutation 
we  received. 

St.  Mary's  Mission  is  a  village  of  a  dozen  houses,  with  a 
Catholic  chapel,  on  this  reservation.  My  eyes  were  here 
gladdened  by  the  sight  of  a  thriving  peach  orchard.  The 
house  and  garden  of  the  priest,  in  their  neatness  and  evi 
dence  of  care,  offer  a  good  model  to  the  Protestant  farmers 
in  this  part  of  Kansas,  whose  places,  without  exception, 
have  a  slovenly  and  untidy  aspect. 

We  had  a  drive  of  fourteen  miles  from  the  Mission  to 
the  village  of  Louisville,  on  Rock  Creek.  The  road  swerved 
away  from  the  river,  occasionally  running  over  the  low  bluffs, 
which  gave  me  views  of  wonderful  beauty  both  up  and  down 
the  Kaw  Valley.  Every  mile  or  two  we  passed  wagon  or 
mule  trains,  encamped  near  springs  of  water,  their  animals 
luxuriating  on  the  interminable  harvest  of  grass.  I  was 
amazed  at  the  extent  of  the  freight  business  across  the 
Plains ;  yet  I  am  told  that  it  has  somewhat  fallen  off  this 
season.  I  have  seen  at  least  two  thousand  wagons  between 
Lawrence  and  this  place. 

The  view  of  Rock  Creek  Valley,  before  we  descended  to 
Louisville,  was  the  finest  I  had  had,  up  to  that  point.  Even 
my  driver,  an  old  resident  of  Kansas,  broke  into  an  excla 
mation  of  delight.  The  village,  at  the  outlet  of  the  valley, 
had  a  tolerable  future  before  it,  until  the  railroad  estab 
lished  the  new  town  of  Waumego,  two  and  a  half  miles  dis- 


ON  THE  FRONTIER.  13 

tant.  In  another  week,  the  latter  place  will  be  the  starting- 
point  for  the  overland  coaches,  which  will  give  it  a  tempo 
rary  importance. 

The  bottom  of  Rock  Creek  is  a  bed  of  solid  limestone, 
as  smooth  as  a  floor.  Just  above  the  crossing,  a  substan 
tial  dam  has  been  built,  which  furnishes  a  good  water- 
power.  We  did  not  stop  here,  but  pushed  on  toward  Man 
hattan,  over  the  rolling  hills  to  the  north,  whence  we  looked 
out  upon  grand  distances,  dark  under  the  gathering  clouds. 
By  seven  o'clock,  the  thunder  drew  nearer,  and  there  was 
every  indication  of  a  violent  storm.  I  therefore  halted  at 
Torrey's,  a  farm  where  the  Overland  coach  changes  horses, 
and  was  no  sooner  housed  than  the  rain  came  down  in  tor 
rents.  The  cabin  furnished  plain  fare,  and  a  tolerable  bed, 
although  the  storm,  which  raged  all  night,  leaked  in  many 
places  through  the  roof. 

Rising  this  morning  at  five  o'clock,  I  found  no  abatement 
of  the  rain.  We  were  soon  sodden  and  mud-splashed  from 
head  to  foot.  The  road,  however,  on  the  uplands,  was 
beaten  hard,  and  we  made  such  good  progress  that  we 
were  at  Manhattan,  eight  miles,  in  time  for  breakfast. 
This  town,  of  five  hundred  inhabitants,  is  situated  at  the 
junction  of  the  Big  Blue  with  the  Kaw.  North  of  it  rises 
the  Blue  Mound,  a  bluff  three  hundred  feet  in  height, 
whence  the  view  is  said  to  be  magnificent.  There  are  five 
churches  in  the  little  place,  and  a  mile  in  the  rear,  on  a 
ridge,  is  the  State  Agricultural  College,  which  already  has 
one  hundred  and  thirty  pupils.  The  houses  are  mostly 
built  of  the  beautiful  magnesian  limestone  (resembling  the 
Roman  travertine),  which  gives  the  place  a  very  neat  and 
substantial  air.  This  was  all  I  could  notice  in  the  interval 
between  breakfast  and  the  harnessing  of  a  new  team  for 
this  place.  With  a  Manhattan  merchant  as  guide,  I  set 
out  again  in  the  dismal  storm,  slowly  making  headway 
through  the  quagmires  of  the  bottom-lands. 

I  remarked  that  the  bluffs  were  higher  as  we  advanced, 


14  COLORADO  :   JL  SUMMER  TUT. 


the  scenery  more  varied  and  picturesque.,  and*  if  possible, 
more  beautiful.  The  wild-flowers  grew  in  wonderful  pro- 
fusion  and  richness  of  color.  I  was  surprised  to  see,  at  the 
fool  of  one  of  the  hfaffe,  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  jwrcti 
flmmmttt*,  in  flower.  We  crossed  the  Wild-Cat  a  swift 
dear  stream,  with  magnificent  timber  on  its  bottoms,  then 
Eureka  Lake  (a  crooked  slough  dignified  by  that  titled 
and  after  making  ten  very  slow  miles,  reached  Ogden,  a 
German  settlement,  with  a  down  houses,  one  brewery,  and 
three  beer-saloons.  Here  I  saw  one  field  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty  acres  of  superb  corn,  completely  inclosed  by  a 
hi<fh  stone  walk 

More  »*fc*y  bottom  ewe,  the*  low  roffing  hflls,  and  in 
another  hour  we  saw  the  btukfings  of  Fort  Riley ,  crowning 
a  MIL  two  miles  in  advance  Before  reaching  tke  Fort, 
we  passed  the  site  of  Pawnee,  noted  during  Governor 
Seeder's  admmfetration.  in  the  eariy  days  of 
Except  two  stone  nouses,  the  town  has  entirely 
peared.  The  Fort  is  charmingly  situated  the  sweep  of 

.  :..  ,  -  ..  v.  .v     : :  .  ^  ,v  ,    v-  ..„.  •,•: v  ._-         v 

imvums  wiucB  unscvou  w  aw  jvepuoucvn  f  onu     4MP  WDBT 

der  it  k  *  ferorite  mffitary  station  I  snould  hare  enjoyed 
H  more  Ut  for  the  dfaoowagn^  raia  aad  the 


crossed  the  Republican  am  %  floating  bridge. 


a  rising  ground  at  the  base  of  the  triangle  fonaed 
hytheSmokyHUI  and  the  RepdbBcan  Forks.  It  has  four 
or  five  hundred  inhabitants, »  good  hotel  (the  Ea^e),  and 
a  kudMwae  we^iy  newspaper,*  TVe  Junction  Oty  Union.* 
BdUb^s — nearly  all  of  stone — are  going  up  rapidly ,  and 
trade  is  renr  brisk,  in  anticipation  of  the  place  soon  being 

trabs  wffi  reach  Fort  ROej  bj  the  irstof  A«g«st,  and  then 
a  great  part  of  the  Oteriand  1m  mH     will  no  doutx  be 


ON     VH1-    FRONTIER.  15 

I  must  close,  to  catch  the  mail.  The  Denver  coach  has 
just  come-  in.  A  through  passenger,  a  fresh,  rosy-cheeked 
boy,  informs  mo  that  all  is  quiet  along  the  route.  To-mor 
row  the  coach  I  take  will  Iv  here.  ;uul  YOU  will  next  hear 
of  me  tYom  some  station  on  » the  Great  American  Desert** 


III. 


UP   THE    SMOKY  HILL   FORK. 

DENVER,  COLORADO. 

AFTER  my  arrival  at  Junction  City,  the  rains  which  had 
flooded  all  Eastern  Kansas,  stopping  stages  and  railroad 
trains  alike,  ceased  entirely,  and  the  weather  became  clear 
and  fine.  Although  my  main  object  in  visiting  Junction 
was  to  secure  a  good  night's  rest  before  setting  out  on  the 
Plains,  I  was  immediately  requested  to  lecture  that  even 
ing.  There  was  no  hall,  the  only  one  having  been  recently 
burned ;  no  church  yet  completed ;  no  announcement  had 
been  made  —  but  in  these  far-western  towns  nothing  is  im 
possible.  A  store-building,  just  floored  and  plastered,  with 
out  windows,  and,  indeed,  occupied  by  carpenters  at  work, 
was  selected  ;  planks  carried  in  for  seats,  a  temporary  plat 
form  built,  messengers  sent  around  to  give  private  infor 
mation  to  the  people,  and  in  two  hours'  time  lo  !  there  was 
a  good  audience  assembled. 

All  Tuesday  I  waited  vainly  for  the  Overland  stage-coach. 
The  accounts  from  down  the  Kaw  Valley  represented  the 
streams  as  being  impassable,  and  toward  sunset  the  enter 
prising  population  considered  that  my  delay  was  now  so  far 
extended  as  to  warrant  a  second  lecture.  With  less  time 
for  preparation,  they  achieved  the  same  result  as  the  first 
night ;  and,  truly,  I  have  rarely  had  a  more  agreeable  audi 
ence  than  the  hundred  persons  who  sat  upon  the  planks  in 
that  unfinished  store-building.  What  other  people  than  the 
Americans  would  do  such  things  ? 

While  at  Junction  I  witnessed  a  very  interesting  experi 


UP   THE  SMOKY  HILL   FORK.  17 

ment.  The  bluffs  of  magnesian  limestone  behind  the  town 
precisely  resemble,  in  color  and  texture,  that  which  forms 
the  island  of  Malta.  In  the  quarry  it  has  a  pale  buff  tint, 
with  a  soft,  cheesy  grain,  which  may  be  cut  with  a  good 
hatchet,  or  sawed  with  a  common  handsaw ;  yet,  after 
some  exposure  to  the  air,  it  becomes  hard  and  assumes  a 
rich,  warm  color.  Messrs.  McClure  and  Hopkins,  of  Junc 
tion,  had  just  received  a  sawing-machine,  driven  by  horse 
power,  and  several  rough  blocks  were  awaiting  the  test. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  satisfactory.  The  saw  cut 
through  the  stone  as  easily  and  steadily  as  through  a  block 
of  wood,  dressing  a  smooth  face  of  eighteen  inches  square 
in  exactly  two  minutes.  The  supply  of  stone  being  inex 
haustible,  this  is  the  beginning  of  a  business  which  may 
make  the  future  cities  of  Kansas  and  Missouri  the  most 
beautiful  in  the  world. 

I  stated  the  population  of  the  place  at  four  or  five 
hundred,  but  I  am  told  it  is  nearly  one  thousand,  each 
building  representing  thrice  the  number  of  inhabitants  as 
in  the  East.  So  I  hasten  to  make  the  correction,  for  noth 
ing  annoys  these  frontier  towns  so  much  as  either  to  under 
state  their  population  or  underestimate  their  prospective 
importance.  Junction  City  will  soon  be  the  terminus  of 
railroad  travel,  and  the  starting-point  of  the  great  overland 
freight  business,  which  will  give  it  certainly  a  temporary 
importance.  The  people,  I  find,  desire  that  the  road  shall 
run  up  the  Eepublican  Valley,  in  order  to  secure,  at  least, 
the  New-Mexican  trade  for  a  few  years  ;  but  this  is  not  a 
matter  to  be  decided  by  local  interests  or  wishes.  The  dis 
tance  thence  to  Denver  by  the  Republican  route  would  be 
one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  miles  longer  than  by  the 
Smoky  Hill  route. 

Another   comfortable   night   at  the   Eagle   Hotel,  and 

Wednesday  came,  warm  and  cloudless,  without  any  sign  of 

the  stage.     Mr.  McClure  kindly  offered  to  drive  me  to  Sa- 

lina,  the  last  settlement  on  the  Smoky  Hill  Fork,  forty-five 

2 


18  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

miles  further,  and  we  set  out  soon  after  breakfast.  The 
road  along  the  bottom  being  too  deep,  we  took  that  leading 
over  the  rolling  country  to  the  north.  Climbing  through  a 
little  glen  to  the  level  of  the  bluffs,  we  had  a  charming 
backward  view  of  the  junction  of  the  rivers,  with  the  build 
ings  of  Fort  Riley  crowning  the  wooded  slopes  beyond ; 
then  forward,  over  many  a  rolling  mile  of  the  finest  graz 
ing  land  in  the  world.  Two  miles  further  we  found  a  train 
of  wagons  just  starting  with  supplies  for  the  stage  stations 
along  the  line.  Mr.  Stanton,  the  superintendent,  informed 
me  that  he  had  come  through  from  Denver  to  Fort  Riley 
this  spring,  with  ox-teams,  in  twenty-seven  days.  He  ex 
pects  to  make  three  round  trips  this  season,  taking  up  corn, 
and  bringing  back  lumber  for  the  houses  and  stables  to  be 
built  on  the  line. 

We  had  occasional  views  over  the  bottoms  of  the  Smoky 
Hill,  which,  the  people  claim,  are  even  richer  than  those  of 
the  Kaw  Valley  ;  but  that  seems  impossible.  Twelve  miles 
of  pleasant  travel  brought  us  to  Chapman's  Creek,  the  first 
stage-station.  Here,  however,  the  stream  was  nine  feet 
deep,  and  the  people  at  the  ranche  informed  us  that  we 
would  have  to  take  a  ford  two  miles  higher  up.  It  seemed 
to  me  better  to  return  to  Junction  and  await  the  stage 
there,  than  to  risk  missing  it  by  leaving  the  main  road ; 
so  we  put  about  and  retraced  our  journey. 

At  noon,  when  we  had  reached  the  bluffs  and  were  think 
ing  of  dinner,  what  should  we  see  but  the  stage,  at  last, 
driving  toward  us  from  the  town  !  Hunger,  then',  was  to 
be  my  first  experience  on  the  Overland  journey.  We 
turned  out  of  the  road ;  I  alighted  with  my  baggage,  and 
awaited  the  approach  of  a  face  well-known  in  the  Tenth 
Street  Studio  Building.  There  were  two  passengers,  but 
neither  of  them  was  my  friend.  In  fact,  the  driver  shouted 
to  me  before  he  pulled  up  his  horses,  "  Your  friend  did  n't 
come."  One  of  the  passengers  handed  me  a  letter  from 
the  agent  at  Topeka,  informing  me  that  Mr.  Beard  would 


UP   THE  SMOKY  HILL  FORK.  19 

probably  not  be  able  to  reach  that  place  for  three  or  four 
days,  on  account  of  the  floods.  My  arrangements  in  Den 
ver  would  not  allow  me  to  wait ;  so  I  deposited  myself,  blan 
kets  and  baggage,  in  the  stage,  and  was  fairly  embarked  for 
crossing  the  Plains. 

I  traversed,  for  the  third  time  that  day,  the  route  to 
Chapman's  Creek.  The  water  was  still  rising,  and  we, 
therefore,  tried  the  upper  ford,  and  successfully.  The  road 
beyond  this  descended  from  the  Smoky  Hill,  and  followed 
the  broad,  level  bottoms  of  that  river.  The  soil  was,  in 
deed,  of  wonderful  fertility,  though  but  little  of  it,  as  yet,  is 
under  cultivation.  Toward  sunset  we  reached  the  village 
of  Abilene,  or  Abeline  (how  or  whence  the  name  was  de 
rived  I  cannot  imagine,  unless  it  is  an  abbreviated  corrup 
tion  of  "Abe  Lincoln  "),  and  here  I  determined  on  having 
something  to  eat.  Upon  questioning  a  stalwart  fellow  who 
hung  upon  the  coach  while  it  was  crossing  Mud  Creek,  he 
declared,  with  emphasis,  "  It 's  the  last  square  meal  you  '11 
get  on  the  road  ! "  My  experience  of  a  "  square  meal," 
therefore,  is  that  it  consists  of  strong  black  coffee,  strips 
of  pork  fat  fried  to  a  sandy  crispness,  and  half-baked, 
soggy,  indigestible  biscuits.  For  these  I  paid  the  square 
price  of  one  dollar. 

The  sun  set,  —  there  was  no  moon,  —  and  our  coach  made 
toilsome  progress  over  the  muddy  bottoms  toward  the  Sol 
omon's  Fork.  Mosquitoes  began  their  attacks,  and  thence 
forth  worried  us  the  whole  night.  About  ten  o'clock  the 
v  driver  commenced  an  imitation  of  the  bark  of  the  coyote, 
which,  it  appeared,  was  a  distant  signal  of  our  approach  to 
the  ferryman  at  the  Solomon  Crossing.  It  was  too  indis 
tinct  to  note  anything  but  the  dark  masses  of  timber  on 
either  side,  and  the  gleam  of  water  between  ;  but  from  the 
length  of  time  we  occupied  in  crossing,  I  should  judge  that 
the  stream  is  a  hundred  yards  wide.  The  bottom-land 
along  the  Upper  Solomon  is  said  to  be  equal  to  any  in 
Kansas,  and  emigration  is  fast  pouring  into  it,  as  well  as 
along  the  Republican  and  the  Saline. 


20  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

I  should  not  wonder  if  "  The  Great  American  Desert  " 
should  finally  be  pronounced  a  myth.  In  my  school  geog 
raphies,  it  commenced  at  the  western  border  of  Missouri  ; 
now,  I  believe,  it  is  pushed  some  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  further  west,  leaving  some  of  the  finest  agricultural 
land  on  the  globe  behind  it.  So  far,  I  had  found  the  re 
verse  of  a  desert ;  I  determined,  therefore,  to  be  on  the 
lookout,  and  duly  note  its  present  'point  of  commencement. 

What  a  weary  drag  we  had  that  night  over  the  deep  mud 
between  the  Solomon  and  Saline  Forks  !  Either  sleeping 
and  stung  to  inflammation,  or  awake,  weary,  and  smoking 
in  desperate  defence,  two  or  three  hours  passed  away,  until 
the  yelping  and  howling  of  the  driver  announced  our  ap 
proach  to  the  Saline.  In  the  dark,  this  river  appeared  to 
be  nearly  equal  in  volume  to  the  Solomon.  Its  water  is  so 
salt  as  sometimes  to  affect  the  taste  of  the  Smoky  Hill  at 
Junction  City. 

Nine  miles  more  in  the  dark  brought  us  to  Salina,  a  vil 
lage  of  two  or  three  hundred  inhabitants,  and  the  end  of 
settlement  in  this  direction.  Our  driver  kept  us  wait 
ing  two  hours  for  a  new  bit  for  one  of  his  bridles,  and  in 
this  interval  I  snatched  a  little  sleep.  Of  Salina  I  can 
not  say  that  I  really  saw  anything,  but  I  learned  that  it  con 
tains  several  stores  and  two  physicians.  The  two  or  three 
houses  near  the  tavern  were  shanties  of  frame  or  logs. 
Travellers  west  of  Topeka  are  expected  to  sleep  two  in  a 
bed,  and  several  beds  in  a  room.  It  was  only  through  the 
courtesy  of  the  landlord  at  Junction  that  I  was  exempted 
from  this  rule.  In  other  respects  customs  are  primitive, 
but  not  rough.  People  wash  themselves  more  frequently 
than  elsewhere  (because  it  is  more  needed),  and  there  is  as 
much  cleanliness  in  the  cabins,  all  circumstances  consid 
ered,  as  in  many  hotels  which  I  have  seen.  I  even  noticed 
one  man  in  Kansas,  who  carried  a  tooth-brush  in  his 
pocket,  which  he  pulled  out  now  and  then  to  give  his  teeth 
a  dry  brushing. 


UP  THE  SMOKY  HILL  FORK.  21 

On  leaving  Salina,  the  road  strikes  nearly  due  west  across 
the  rolling  country,  to  cut  off  the  great  southern  bend  of 
the  Smoky  Hill.  Two  or  three  miles  terminated  the  mud 
and  mosquitoes ;  we  struck  a  dry,  smooth  road,  a  cool,  deli 
cious  breeze,  and  great  sweeps  of  green  landscape,  slowly 
brightening  with  the  dawn.  Distant  bluffs  and  mounds 
broke  the  monotony  of  the  horizon  line,  and  the  gradual, 
gentle  undulations  of  the  road  were  refreshing  both  to 
team  and  passengers. 

By  six  o'clock  we  reached  Pritchard's,  the  next  station, 
sixteen  miles  from  Salina.  Here  there  was  a  stable  of 
rough  stones  and  mud,  and  a  cabin  cut  out  of  the  steep 
bank,  with  a  rude  roof  of  logs  and  mud.  I  was  surprised 
by  the  sight  of  a  pretty  little  girl  of  seven,  and  on  entering 
the  cabin  found  a  woman  engaged  in  getting  our  breakfast. 
The  walls  and  floor  were  the  bare  soil ;  there  was  a  bed  or 
two,  a  table,  two  short  benches  for  seats,  and  a  colony  of 
tame  prairie-dogs  in  one  corner.  I  asked  the  little  girl  if 
she  would  not  like  a  companion  to  play  with,  but  she  an 
swered,  —  "I  think  I  have  more  fun  with  the  horses  and 
prairie-dogs  !  "  What  a  western  woman  she  will  make  ! 

Water  was  furnished  plentifully  for  our  ablutions,  break 
fast  resembled  the  "  square  meal "  of  the  preceding  even 
ing,  with  the  addition  of  canned  peaches,  and  we  resumed 
our  seats  with  a  great  sense  of  refreshment.  The  air  of 
this  region  seems  to  take  away  all  sense  of  fatigue ;  it  is 
cool  and  bracing,  even  at  mid-day.  Soon  after  starting, 
we  saw  a  coyote  sneaking  along  a  meadow  on  our  left ; 
then  a  huge  gray  wolf,  at  which  one  of  my  fellow-passen 
gers  fired  without  effect.  He  trotted  away  with  a  disdain 
ful  air,  stopping  now  and  then  to  look  at  us.  At  the  same 
time  a  rattlesnake  gave  an  angry  signal  by  the  roadside. 
There  was  no  longer  a  question  that  we  were  now  beyond 
civilization. 

The  limestone  formation  here  gives  place  to  a  dark-red 
sandstone,  which  crops  out  of  the  ridges  in  rough,  irregu- 


22  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

lar  walls  and  towers.  Although  rising  to  no  great  height, 
they  nevertheless  form  picturesque  and  suggestive  features 
of  the  landscape  :  in  the  distance  they  might  frequently  be 
taken  for  buildings. 

The  flora  seems  also  to  undergo  a  change.  The  grass 
was  everywhere  starred  with  large  crimson  anemones,  a 
variety  of  the  helianthus,  with  golden  blossoms,  a  velvety 
flower  of  the  richest  brown  and  orange  tints,  white  lark 
spurs,  and  dark-blue  spiderwort.  For  many  a  league  the 
country  was  one  vast  natural  garden  of  splendid  bloom. 
There  were  places  where  a  single  flower  had  usurped  pos 
session  of  a  quarter-acre  of  soil,  and  made  a  dazzling  bed 
of  its  own  color.  I  have  seen  nothing  like  it,  save  on  the 
hills  of  Palestine,  in  May. 

After  leaving  Clear  Creek,  fourteen  miles  further,  we 
approached  the  Smoky  Hill.  Two  companies  of  the  Second 
United  States  Cavalry  were  drawn  up  on  the  plain.  Look 
ing  out,  we  beheld  the  encampment  of  Fort  Ellsworth 
ahead  of  us.  At  present  this  is  but  a  collection  of  tem 
porary  log  barracks  and  stables,  but  the  foundations  of  a 
permanent  post  have  been  laid  on  the  rising  ground,  a  lit 
tle  further  from  the  river.  We  only  stopped  to  deliver 
mails,  but  I  had  time  for  a  brief  interview  with  Lieuten 
ant  Lester,  and  a  glass  of  excellent  beer  from  a  barrel  in 
the  sutler's  quarters.  General  Palmer  was  inspecting  the 
progress  of  the  new  fort,  and  I  did  not  see  him.  Every 
body  —  especially  the  private  soldiers  —  was  anxious  to 
hear  about  the  Fenian  movement. 

There  had  been  no  Indian  troubles  on  the  road,  but  the 
officers  seemed  to  anticipate  trouble  from  the  continued 
absence  of  Indians  from  the  country.  The  old  trappers 
consider  that  withdrawal  of  intercourse,  on  the  part  of  the 
Indians,  indicates  preparations  for  an  attack.  The  Smoky 
Hill  route,  I  find,  is  regarded  with  a  little  uneasiness  this 
year,  on  account  of  the  troubles  last  fall.  The  traders  and 
train-men  from  Santa  Fe  represent  that  the  tribes  of  the 


UP  THE  SMOKY  HILL  FORK.  23 

Plains  are  not  in  an  amiable  mood ;  and  I  confess  I  am 
therefore  surprised  that  a  thoroughfare  so  important  as  the 
Smoky  Hill  route  is  not  more  efficiently  guarded.  As  far 
as  I  can  learn,  the  difficulty  seems  rather  to  lie  in  the  ex 
istence  of  a  mongrel  band  of  outcasts  from  various  tribes, 
half-breeds  and  a  few  whites,  who  are  known,  collectively, 
under  the  name  of  "  Dog  Indians."  Most  of  the  atrocities 
heretofore  committed  are  charged  upon  this  class,  which 
ought  to  be  extirpated  at  once. 

When  we  reached  the  station  at  Buffalo  Creek,  ten  miles 
from  Fort  Ellsworth,  the  driver  surprised  me  by  saying: 
"  Here  's  where  the  attack  happened,  three  weeks  ago ! " 
I  had  heard  of  no  attack,  and  was  informed  by  the  agents 
of  the  line  that  none  had  occurred.  The  account  the  driver 
gave  was,  that  a  band  of  forty  (Pawnees,  he  supposed) 
had  stopped  the  coach,  attempted  to  upset  it,  and  made 
various  insolent  demonstrations  for  a  while.  One  passen 
ger,  who  made  a  show  of  resistance,  was  knocked  down 
with  a  club.  "  There  was  a  Commodore  aboard,"  said  the 
driver ;  "  he  was  terribly  scairt ;  and  a  woman,  and  she  was 
the  coolest  of  'em  all."  This  band  is  supposed  to  be  under 
the  command  of  Bent,  a  half-breed,  son  of  the  famous  old 
frontiersman. 

At  the  next  station,  Lost  Creek  (fifteen  miles),  we  found 
a  small  detachment  of  soldiers  posted.  This  looked  threat 
ening,  but  they  assured  us  that  everything  was  quiet. 
Thenceforth,  indeed,  we  ceased  to  feel  any  anxiety ;  for,  on 
a  ridge,  two  miles  away,  we  saw  our  first  buffalo,  —  a  dozen 
dark  specks  on  the  boundless  green.  Before  night  small 
herds  of  them  grew  quite  frequent,  making  their  appear 
ance  near  us  on  both  sides  of  the  road.  They  set  off  on  a 
slow,  lumbering  gallop  at  our  approach,  their  humps  tossing 
up  and  down  behind  each  other,  with  the  regular  movement 
of  small  waves.  Several  shots  were  fired  from  the  coach, 
but  only  one  took  effect,  wounding  a  huge  bull  in  the  shoul 
der.  It  is  this  wanton  killing  of  their  game,  simply  in  the 


24  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

way  of  amusement,  which  so  exasperates  the  Indians.  On 
the  Smoky  Hill  bottoms,  toward  evening,  we  saw  the  larg 
est  herd,  numbering  some  four  or  five  hundred  animals. 
The  soldiers  at  Lost  Creek  had  shot  two  or  three  the  pre 
vious  day.  They  had  a  quarter  hanging  upon  the  stake, 
but  the  meat  both  looked  and  smelled  so  disagreeably  that 
I  had  no  desire  to  taste  it. 

Antelopes  and  prairie-dogs  also  made  their  appearance 
in  large  numbers.  The  former  were  mostly  single  or  in 
pairs,  leaping  nimbly  along  the  elevations,  or  lifting  their 
graceful  heads  in  curiosity  and  watching  us  as  we  passed. 
The  prairie-dogs  sat  upright  at  the  doors  of  their  under 
ground  habitations,  and  barked  at  us  with  a  comical  petu 
lance.  Toward  evening  their  partners,  the  owls,  came  forth 
also  to  take  the  air.  The  rattlesnakes,  I  presume,  were 
still  in-doors,  as  we  saw  but  two  or  three  during  the  whole 
journey. 

After  passing  a  small  stream  near  Fossil  Creek,  the  driver 
suddenly  stopped  the  team  and  jumped  down  from  his 
seat.  He  leaned  over  the  water,  started  back,  took  courage 
again,  and  presently  held  up  to  view  a  turtle  which  would 
weigh  twenty-five  or  thirty  pounds.  The  creature  kicked 
and  snapped  viciously,  as  he  was  suspended  by  the  tail,  nor 
was  his  odor  very  attractive  ;  but  such  a  prospect  for  soup 
does  not  often  arrive  in  this  land  of  salt  pork  and  indi 
gestible  biscuit ;  so  he  was  tumbled  into  the  boot,  and  the 
cover  strapped  down  over  him.  For  several  miles,  we.. on 
ttie  back  seat  could  hear  him  scratching  behind  us,  but 
when  the  boot  was  opened  at  Big  Creek  Station,  lo !  no 
turtle  was  there.  The  driver's  face  was  a  picture  of  misery 
and  disgust. 

As  the  cool,  grateful  twilight  came  down  upon  the  bound 
less  swells  of  grass  and  flowers,  I  examined  my  sensations, 
and  found  that  they  were  of  pure,  peaceful  enjoyment  hi 
the  new  and  beautiful  world  which  I  now  beheld  for  the 
first  time.  The  fatigue,  so  far,  was  trifling ;  the  fear  of 


UP  THE  SMOKY  HILL  FORK.  25 

Indians  had  disappeared  ;  the  "  square  meals  "  had,  some 
how  or  other,  managed  to  digest  themselves ;  and  I  heartily 
congratulated  myself  on  having  undertaken  the-journey. 

Here  I  leave  you,  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  miles 
west  of  Fort  Riley,  in  the  centre  of  what  once  was  "  The 
Great  American  Desert." 


IV. 

CROSSING   THE   PLAINS. 

DENVER,  C.  T.t  June  18, 1866. 

AT  Fort  Ellsworth  I  was  informed  that  the  military  sta 
tion  between  Fossil  Creek  and  Big  Creek  had  been  dis 
continued ;  yet  this  is  not  the  case.  Toward  sunset  the 
driver  handed  me  a  mail-bag,  asking  me  to  pick  out  the 
letters  for  Fort  Fletcher,  the  name  given  to  this  post ;  and 
the  assortment  had  scarcely  been  made,  before  the  coach 
was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  soldiers  (apparently  new  re 
cruits)  clamoring  vociferously,  first  for  tobacco  and  then 
for  newspapers.  It  was  difficult  to  decide  which  want  was 
the  keener.  I  gave  them  what  cigars  I  had  in  my  pocket, 
but  was  destitute  of  papers,  and  could  only  inform  them 
that  the  Fenians  had  not  yet  taken  Montreal.  I  felt  no 
less  disappointed  than  the  poor  fellows  themselves,  that  I 
could  not  better  supply  their  wants. 

My  companions  were  no  less  interested  than  myself  in 
the  projected  railroad  routes  to  Colorado,  and  we  therefore 
scanned  the  Smoky  Hill  Valley  from  every  elevation,  with 
regard  to  two  considerations,  —  settlement  and  railroad  ties. 
So  far,  everything  was  favorable.  The  Smoky  Hill  was 
everywhere  marked  by  a  line  of  timber,  and  we  noticed 
that  at  each  junction  with  its  numerous  affluents,  there  were 
large  groves.  The  bluffs  on  the  southern  side  were  fre 
quently  covered,  to  their  summits,  with  a  growth  of  red 
cedar.  All  the  bottom-land  is  exceedingly  rich  and  well 
adapted  for  farming,  while  the  broad,  rolling  uplands  fur 
nish  the  finest  pasturage  in  the  world.  Near  Big  Creek, 


CROSSING  THE  PLAINS.  27 

coal  has  been  found,  and  there  are  also  rumors  of  tin  and 
copper.  With  a  sufficient  force  the  road  may  be  extended 
from  Fort  Riley  to  Big  Creek  in  a  year's  time,  and  carry 
permanent  settlement  with  it. 

At  Big  Creek  Station,  which  we  reached  after  dark,  we 
took  on  board  Mr.  Scott,  the  Superintendent  of  the  Middle 
Division  of  the  road.  There  was  still  no  moon,  and,  for 
tunately,  no  mosquitoes  also.  The  night  was  fresh,  yet 
scarcely  cool  enough  to  require  the  blankets  I  had  procured 
for  the  journey.  Half-asleep  and  half-awake,  now  lulled 
into  slumber  by  the  slowness  of  our  progress,  now  bumped 
into  angry  wakefulness  in  crossing  some  deep  gully,  we 
dragged  through  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  found  our 
selves  at  Downer's,  forty-four  miles  further.  Here  an  empty 
coach  had  just  arrived  from  Denver,  the  third  I  had  met 
going  eastward  without  passengers.  The  Colorado  people, 
it  seems,  are  still  afraid  of  this  route. 

Our  breakfast  here  was  another  "  square  meal,"  —  pork 
fat  and  half-baked  biscuits.  At  all  the  stations  the  people 
complained  of  lack  of  supplies ;  some  were  destitute  of 
everything  but  beans.  They  gave  us  what  they  had,  and 
we  were  very  willing  to  pay  a  dollar  rather  than  go  hungry ; 
but  one  would  naturally  expect  that  where  a  stage  goes 
decent  food  can  be  transported.  As  there  is  but  one  change 
of  teams  at  the  stations,  we  were  obliged  to  take  the  same 
mules  which  had  just  arrived  from  Cornell  Springs,  twenty 
miles  further ;  hence  our  progress  was  very  slow  and  dis 
couraging.  On  arriving  there,  a  second  tired  team  was 
harnessed  to  carry  us  thirty  miles,  to  Monument  Station ; 
so  that  we  lost  full  four  hours  during  this  day's  journey. 

The  driver  of  the  down  coach  informed  us  that  the 
Cheyennes  had  appeared  at  Monument  Station  the  day 
before,  but  they  had  committed  no  depredations,  and  ap 
peared  to  be  friendly.  The  chief  had  even  invited  him, 
on  account  of  his  red  hair,  to  join  their  tribe.  Mr.  Scott, 
however,  who  has  had  eight  years'  experience  of  the  In- 


28  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

dians  of  the  Plains,  seemed  to  place  little  faith  in  their 
professions.  They  are  reported  to  have  declared  that  they 
must  and  will  retain  the  Smoky  Hill  country,  as  it  is  the 
best  range  for  game  between  the  Missouri  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

From  the  first  rise  after  leaving  Downer's,  we  saw,  far 
away  to  the  right,  a  long  range  of  chalk  bluffs,  shining 
against  a  background  of  dark  blue  cloud.  They  seemed 
like  a  stretch  of  the  southern  coast  of  England,  breasting 
the  rolling  green  ocean  of  the  Plains.  Over  great  swells, 
covered. with  the  short,  sweet  buffalo-grass,  and  starred 
with  patches  of  crimson  anemone,  pink  verbena,  unknown 
orange  and  salmon-red  flowers,  we  drove  for  two  hours, 
watching  the  isolated  towers  and  fantastic  masses  of  rock 
detach  themselves  from  the  line  of  the  bluff.  They 
assumed  the  strangest  and  most  unexpected  forms.  Here 
was  a  feudal  castle  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  there  a  shattered, 
irregular  obelisk,  or  broken  pyramid;  and  finally,  rising 
alone  from  the  level  of  a  meadow,  we  beheld  three  perpen 
dicular  towers,  eighty  feet  high,  resting  on  a  common  base. 
Their  crests  were  of  a  bright  orange  hue,  fading  downward 
into  white.  Beyond  them  extended  the  shattered  battle 
ments  of  a  city,  sparkling  in  the  sunshine.  The  blue 
ridges  beyond  the  Smoky  Hill,  ten  miles  away,  formed  the 
background  of  this  remarkable  picture. 

The  green  of  the  Plains  here  began  to  be  varied  with 
belts  of  dark  purple,  which  we  found  to  be  what  is  called 
"  bunch-grass,"  a  very  fine  and  wiry  growth,  but  said  to  be 
excellent  forage.  At  a  distance  it  resembled  the  heather 
bloom  on  the  English  moors.  Over  these  brilliant  green 
and  purple  tints,  the  snowy  fortresses  of  chalk  started  up 
with  a  dazzling  effect.  There  is  not  the  least  approach  to 
monotony  in  the  scenery  of  the  Plains ;  but  continual,  in 
spiring  change. 

We  were  to  have  another  new  experience  that  day.  Our 
route,  for  some  distance,  lay  over  an  elevated  plateau, 


CROSSING  THE  PLAINS.  29 

around  which,  for  an  hour  or  two,  dark  thunder-clouds  col 
lected.  Out  of  one  of  these  dropped  a  curtain  of  rain, 
gray  in  the  centre,  but  of  an  intense  indigo  hue  at  the 
edges.  It  slowly  passed  us  on  the  north,  split,  from  one 
minute  to  another,  by  streaks  of  vivid  rose-colored  light 
ning,  followed  by  deafening  detonating  peals ;  when,  just 
as  we  seemed  to  have  escaped,  it  suddenly,  wheeled  and 
burst  upon  us. 

It  was  like  a  white  squall  on  a  tropic  sea.  We  had  not 
lowered  the  canvas  curtains  of  the  coach  before  a  dam  gave 
way  over  our  heads,  and  a  torrent  of  mingled  wind,  rain, 
hail,  and  thunder  overwhelmed  us.  The  driver  turned  his 
mules  as  far  as  possible  away  from  the  wind,  and  stopped ; 
the  coach  rocked  and  reeled  as  if  about  to  overturn ;  the 
hail  smote  like  volleys  of  musketry,  and  in  less  than  fifteen 
minutes  the  whole  plain  lay  four  inches  under  water.  I 
have  never  witnessed  anything  even  approaching  the  vio 
lence  of  this  storm  ;  it  was  a  marvel  that  the  mules  escaped 
with  their  lives.  The  bullets  of  hail  were  nearly  as  large 
as  pigeons'  eggs,  and  the  lightning  played  around  us  like  a 
succession  of  Bengal  fires.  We  laid  the  rifles  in  the  bot 
tom  of  the  coach,  and  for  half  an  hour  sat  in  silence,  hold 
ing  down  the  curtain,  and  expecting  every  moment  to  be 
overturned.  Then  the  tornado  suddenly  took  breath,  com 
menced  again  twice  or  thrice,  and  ceased  as  unexpectedly 
as  it  came. 

For  a  short  time  the  road  was  a  swift  stream,  and  the 
tufts  of  buffalo-grass  rose  out  of  an  inundated  plain,  but 
the  water  soon  found  its  level,  and  our  journey  was  not 
delayed,  as  we  had  cause  to  fear.  Presently  Mr.  Scott 
descried  a  huge  rattlesnake,  and  we  stopped  the  coach  and 
jumped  out.  The  rattles  were  too  wet  to  give  any  sound, 
and  the  snake  endeavored  to  escape.  A  German  frontiers 
man  who  was  with  us  fired  a  revolver  which  stunned  rather 
than  wounded  the  reptile.  Then,  poising  a  knife,  he  threw 
it  with  such  a  secure  aim  that  the  snake's  head  was  pinned 


30  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

to  the  earth.  Cutting  off  the  rattles,  which  I  appropriated, 
we  did  him  no  further  injury. 

The  Monument  Station  is  so  called  from  a  collection  of 
quadrangular  chalk  towers,  which  rise  directly  from  the 
plain.  At  first  sight,  they  resemble  a  deserted  city,  with 
huge  bastioned  walls  ;  but  on  a  nearer  approach  they  sep 
arate  into  detached  masses,  some  of  which  suggest  colossal 
sitting  statues.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  divest  one's 
mind  of  the  impression  that  these  are  the  remains  of  hu 
man  art.  The  station-house  is  built  of  large  blocks,  cut 
out  with  a  hatchet  and  cemented  with  raw  clay.  Here  we 
found  stone-ware  instead  of  pewter,  although  the  viands 
were  about  as  "  square  "  as  those  at  the  preceding  stations. 
The  Indians  had  not  again  made  their  appearance.  They 
professed  to  have  a  camp  four  or  five  miles  further  down 
the  Smoky  Hill,  and  I  was  a  little  disappointed  that,  after 
so  many  rumors  and  warnings,  I  was  likely  to  get  over  the 
Plains  without  seeing  a  single  redskin. 

During  this  day's  journey  we  kept  more  away  from  the 
Smoky  Hill,  but  we  still  saw,  from  time  to  time,  its  line  of 
timber  and  cedared  bluffs  in  the  distance.  Near  Monu 
ment  Station  we  found  it  much  diminished  in  volume,  but 
with  good,  arable  bottom-lands.  Up  to  this  point,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  west  of  Fort  Riley,  we  could  not 
detect  the  least  impediment  to  the  construction  of  a  rail 
road.  Nor  was  there  yet  any  indication  of  the  Great 
American  Desert. 

We  had  now  shorter  stations  for  some  distance,  and 
made  the  distance  to  Pond  Creek,  forty-six  miles,  by  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  scarcely  possible  to  sleep, 
and  yet  we  were  too  much  fatigued  to  keep  entirely  awake. 
I  have  an  indistinct  impression  that  there  was  a  two-story 
frame  house  at  Pond  Creek,  and  that  we  were  delayed 
there  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  know  that  Mr.  Scott  informed 
us,  as  he  took  leave,  that  we  were  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  miles  from  Denver.  At  this  point  there  is  a  new  mili- 


CROSSING  THE  PLAINS.  31 

tary  post,  called  Fort  Wallace.  Fort  Lyon,  on  the  Ar 
kansas,  is  but  forty-five  miles  distant,  in  a  southwestern 
direction,  and  the  road  thence  to  Santa  Fe  about  four  hun 
dred  miles  further.  If  the  Eastern  Branch  of  the  Pacific 
Railroad  should  follow  the  Smoky  Hill  route  (which  is  cer 
tainly  the  shortest  and  most  practicable),  Pond  Creek  will 
probably  become,  for  a  while,  the  starting-point  of  New 
Mexican  travel  and  traffic. 

We  reached  Willow  Springs,  eighteen  miles,  by  sunrise. 
A  forlorn  place  it  was !  The  station-men  lived  in  holes 
cut  in  a  high  clay  bank,  and  their  mules  had  similar  half- 
subterranean  lodgings.  I  saw  no  provisions,  and  they  said 
they  could  give  us  no  breakfast.  The  team  was  speedily 
changed,  and  we  set  out  for  Cheyenne  Wells,  twenty-five 
miles  distant,  through  a  country  more  nearly  approaching 
barrenness  than  any  we  had  yet  seen.  The  timber  almost 
entirely  disappeared  ;  the  lateral  streams  ceased,  arid 
^finally  the  Smoky  Hill  itself,  now  so  near  its  source,  be 
came  a  bed  of  waterless  sand.  Still  there  was  buffalo- 
grass  everywhere,  and  the  antelopes  were  very  abundant. 
The  fresh,  delicious  air  of  the  Plains  —  only  equalled  by 
that  of  the  African  Desert  —  refreshed  us  after  the  weari 
some  night,  and  our  appetites  became  keen  with  enforced 
fasting. 

At  Cheyenne  Wells  we  found  a  large  and  handsome  frame 
stable  for  the  mules,  but  no  dwelling.  The  people  lived  in 
a  natural  cave,  extending  for  some  thirty  feet  under  the 
bluff.  But  there  was  a  woman,  and  when  we  saw  her  we 
augured  good  fortunes.  Truly  enough,  under  the  roof  of 
conglomerate  limestone,  in  the  cave's  dim  twilight,  we  sat 
down  to  antelope  steak,  tomatoes,  bread,  pickles,  and  pota 
toes  —  a  royal  meal,  after  two  days  of  detestable  fare. 

Here  we  saw  the  last  of  Smoky  Hill  Fork.  The  road 
strikes  across  a  broad  plateau  for  twenty  miles,  and  then 
descends  to  the  Big  Sandy,  a  branch  of  the  Arkansas.  It 
is  a  fine,  hard,  natural  highway,  over  which  we  made  good 


32  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

time.  The  country  swarmed  with  antelopes,  which  pro 
voked  several  shots  from  the  coach,  but  without  effect. 
Two  of  them,  to  our  surprise,  appeared  to  be  pursuing  a 
large  gray  wolf.  They  made  boldly  after  it  as  often  as 
it  stopped,  and  were  evidently  bent  on  driving  it  quite 
away  from  their  pasturage.  While  we  were  speculating  on 
their  movements,  a  lovely  little  fawn  sprang  up  from  the 
grass  and  made  away  over  the  hills.  The  old  antelopes 
were  evidently  its  parents,  and  their  boldness  in  facing  and 
intimidating  the  wolf  was  now  explained. 

From  the  western  edge  of  the  water-shed,  we  overlooked 
many  a  league  of  brown,  monotonous,  treeless  country, 
through  which  meandered,  not  the  water,  but  the  dry, 
sandy  bed  of  the  Big  Sandy.  We  really  seemed  to  have 
reached  at  last  the  Great  American  Desert.  At  the  stage 
station  we  found  two  men  living  in  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
with  nothing  but  alkaline  water  to  offer  us.  I  tasted  it, 
and  finding  the  flavor  not  disagreeable,  drank  —  which 
brought  later  woe  upon  me.  Beyond  this  point  even  the 
buffalo-grass  died  out,  and  we  rolled  along  in  the  burning 
sun  and  acrid  dust,  over  dreary,  gray  undulations  of  weeds 
and  cactus.  At  Grady's  Station,  eighteen  miles  further, 
there  was  but  one  man,  a  lonely  troglodyte,  burrowing  in 
the  bank  like  a  cliff-swallow. 

Very  soon,  however,  the  grass  began  to  appear  again, 
the  country  became  green,  and  the  signs  of  desolation  van 
ished.  A  distance  of  forty  miles  embraced  all  we  had 
seen  of  the  Desert  —  in  fact,  all  there  is  of  it  upon  this 
route.  In  these  forty  miles  a  scattered  settlement  here 
and  there  is  not  impossible,  but  is  very  unlikely.  The  ad 
joining  country,  for  a  hundred  miles  both  to  the  east  and 
west,  is  adapted  to  grazing,  and  will  support  a  moderate 
population.  The  road,  however,  will  soon  be  carried  from 
Cheyenne  Wells  up  the  divide,  entirely  avoiding  the  Big 
Sandy.  This  new  route,  I  am  told,  shortens  the  distance 
to  Denver  by  twenty  miles,  and  has  good  grass  and  water 
all  the  way. 


CROSSING  THE  PLAINS.  33 

Toward  evening  I  was  struck  with  a  peculiar  tint  in  the 
shadow  of  a  cloud  along  the  horizon.  After  half  an  hour's 
study,  I  pronounced  it  to  be  a  mountain  —  and,  of  course, 
Pike's  Peak.  My  fellow-travellers  dissented  at  first  from 
this  opinion,  but  as  the  clouds  dissolved,  the  outline  of  a 
snowy  peak  came  out  sharp  and  clear.  It  was  something 
like  that  of  the  Jungfrau,  but  stood  alone,  surrounded  by 
no  sisterhood  of  Alps.  At  sunset  we  saw  not  only  Pike's 
Peak,  but  the  tops  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  range,  and  the 
Spanish  Peaks,  like  little  pimples  on  the  line  of  the  hori 
zon. 

What  a  night  followed  !  The  hard  "  hack  "  bumped  and 
jolted  over  the  rough  roads ;  we  were  flung  backward  and 
forward,  right  and  left,  pummelled,  pounded,  and  bruised, 
not  only  out  of  sleep,  but  out  of  temper,  and  into  pain  and 
exasperation.  At  one  o'clock  yesterday  morning  we  were 
at  Hedinger's  Lake,  ninety-seven  miles  from  Denver.  I 
thanked  Heaven  that  no  fifth  night  in  the  coach  awaited 
me.  The  hours  dragged  on  with  incredible  slowness,  until 
dawn  brought  some  refreshment,  showing  us  a  country  of 
high  hills,  occasional  pine  groves,  and  far-flashing  snowy 
mountains. 

Before  sunset  we  drove  into  Denver  j   but  of  the  last 
day's  ride  to-morrow ! 
8 


V. 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  AND  DENVER. 

DENVER,  C.  T.,  June  19, 1866. 

FROM  Hedinger's  Lake  to  Denver  a  new  cut-off  has  re 
cently  been  made,  shortening  the  distance  about  twenty 
miles.  Ours  was  the  last  coach  which  passed  over  the  old 
road,  the  stations  and  stock  being  taken  up  behind  us,  and 
transferred  across  the  country  to  their  new  positions.  The 
road  from  Cheyenne  Wells  to  Denver  is  thus  abridged  by 
forty  miles,  making  the  entire  distance  from  Fort  Riley  to 
the  latter  place  four  hundred  and  sixty  miles.  "When  the 
stations  are  shortened  to  an  average  of  ten  or  twelve  miles, 
and  the  road  as  well  stocked  as  it  should  be,  the  trip  can 
easily  be  made  in  three  days.  By  that  time,  the  trains  on 
the  Pacific  Railroad  will  be  running  to  Fort  Riley,  and 
twenty-four  hours  more  will  bring  the  traveller  to  St. 
Louis. 

I  will  not  recapitulate  our  bruises  during  the  night,  but 
rather  pass  at  once  to  the  sparkling  morning  which  broke 
upon  us  while  crossing  the  divide  between  the  Big  Sandy 
and  the  first  tributary  of  the  Platte.  In  the  foreground 
stretched  a  range  of  green,  grassy  hills,  dotted  with  pastur 
ing  antelope,  and  crested  with  scattered  groves  of  pine; 
high  above  and  far  beyond  them  towered  the  keen,  shining 
wedges  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Pike's  Peak  in  the  south 
was  apparently  near  at  hand,  although  seventy  miles  dis 
tant.  Long's  Peak,  in  the  northwest,  resembled  an  Alpine 
horn  in  its  sharp,  abrupt  outline ;  and  between  these  two 
furthest  outposts  of  the  snowy  range  arose  many  a  name- 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  AND  DENVER.      35 

less  yet  beautiful  summit.  The  character  of  the  scenery 
had  completely  changed  since  the  preceding  sunset.  I  was 
charmed  out  of  all  sense  of  fatigue,  all  feeling  of  discom 
fort,  except  that  of  hunger. 

At  Reed's  Springs  we  obtained  our  last  "  square  meal," 
with  the  inevitable  bacon,  for  a  dollar  and  a  half.  Thence 
forth  our  road  led  over  the  high  divides  between  the  Beaver, 
Bijou,  and  Kiowa  Creeks,  all  of  which  flow  northward  to 
the  Platte.  The  country  is  grandly  adapted  to  grazing, 
and  all  the  bottom-lands  are  capable  of  being  farmed.  The 
pine  along  the  ridges  is  of  but  moderate  growth,  but  it 
will,  no  doubt,  become  better  and  more  abundant  with  pro 
tection.  A  new  flora  here  met  us.  The  cactus,  with  its 
showy  crimson  and  golden  blossoms,  became  scarce.  I 
found  a  splendid  euchroma,  with  a  spike  of  pure  flame- 
color  ;  great  quantities  of  a  wild  vetch,  with  pink  blossoms ; 
and  a  thick  growth  of  purple  lupins.  The  grass  was  quite 
different  from  that  on  the  plains,  and  many  portions  of 
these  hills  would  furnish  large  quantities  of  wild  hay.  At 
some  of  the  stations  along  the -Smoky  Hill,  the  men  have 
mowing-machines,  with  which  they  harvest  a  full  winter 
supply  for  their  stock. 

The  view  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  from  the  divide  near 
Kiowa  Creek  is  considered  one  of  the  finest  in  Colorado. 
From  the  breezy  ridge,  between  scattered  groups  of  pine, 
you  look  upon  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  the  snowy 
range,  from  the  Sangre  de  Cristo  to  the  spurs  away  toward 
Laramie.  In  variety  and  harmony  of  form,  in  effect  against 
the  dark-blue  sky,  in  breadth  and  grandeur,  I  know  no  ex 
ternal  picture  of  the  Alps  which  can  be  placed  beside  it. 
If  you  could  take  away  the  valley  of  the  Rhone,  and  unite 
the  Alps  of  Savoy  with  the  Bernese  Overland,  you  might 
obtain  a  tolerable  idea  of  this  view  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains.  Pike's  Peak  would  then  represent  the  Jungfrau ;  a 
nameless  snowy  giant  in  front  of  you,  Monte  Rosa ;  and 
Long's  Peak,  Mont  Blanc.  The  altitudes  very  nearly  cor- 


36  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

respond,  and  there  is  a  certain  similarity  in  the  forms.  The 
average  height  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  however,  surpasses 
that  of  the  Alps. 

Mid-day  was  intensely  sultry,  with  the  first  dust  we  had 
experienced.  We  took  a  hasty  dinner  at  Running  Creek, 
and  then  made  our  slow  way,  with  poor  horses,  across  the 
ridges  to  Cherry  Creek,  which  we  struck  about  fifteen  miles 
above  Denver.  Up  to  this  point  we  had  found  no  settle 
ment,  except  two  or  three  grazing  ranches.  The  ride  down 
Cherry  Creek,  through  sand  and  dust,  on  the  banks,  of  the 
muddy  stream,  was  the  most  tiresome  part  of  the  overland 
journey.  Mile  after  mile  went  slowly  by,  and  still  there 
was  no  sign  of  cultivation.  At  last,  four  miles  from  the 
town,  we  reached  a  neat  little  tavern,  beside  which  grew 
some  cotton-woods.  Here  there  were  two  or  three  ranches 
in  the  process  of  establishment.  The  water  from  the  wells 
was  very  sweet  and  cold. 

Our  next  sign  of  life  was  the  evidence  of  death,  —  the 
unfenced  cemetery  of  Denver,  on  the  top  of  the  ridge.  I 
looked  out  ahead,  from  time  to  time,  but  could  see  neither 
horse,  tree,  fence,  or  other  sign  of  habitation.  My  fellow- 
passengers  had  been  loud  in  their  praises  of  the  place,  and 
I  therefore  said  nothing.  Suddenly  I  perceived,  through 
the  dust,  a  stately  square  Gothic  tower,  and  rubbed  my  eyes 
with  a  sense  of  incredulity.  It  was  really  true  ;  there  was 
the  tower,  built  of  brick,  well-proportioned  and  picturesque. 
Dwellings  and  cottages  rose  over  the  dip  of  the  ridge,  on 
either  side ;  brick  blocks  began  to  appear,  and  presently 
we  were  rolling  through  gay,  animated  streets,  down  the 
vistas  of  which  the  snowy  ranges  in  the  west  were  shining 
fairly  in  the  setting  sun.  The  coach  drew  up  at  the  Pacific 
Hotel,  where  I  found  a  hearty  welcome  and  good  quarters, 
and  in  just  four  days  and  six  hours  from  Fort  Riley  I  sat 
down,  not  to  a  "  square  meal,"  but  to  an  excellent  supper. 

The  two  days  which  have  since  elapsed  have  given  me  a 
good  superficial  acquaintance  with  the  place.  First,  let  me 


* 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  AND  DENVER.  37 

say  that  the  views  which  have  appeared  in  the  illustrated 
papers  are  simply  caricatures.  Instead  of  being  a  cluster  of 
houses  on  a  flat  plain,  with  a  range  of  clumsy  mountains  in 
the  distance,  and  Pike's  Peak  standing  alone  in  the  centre 
thereof,  it  is  built  upon  a  gradual  slope,  rising  eastward 
from  the  junction  of  Cherry  Creek  with  the  Platte.  It  is 
as  well  built  as  any  town  of  equal  size  in  the  Mississippi 
Valley.  The  Methodist  Church  and  Seminary,  the  banks 
and  principal  business  houses,  solidly  constructed  of  brick 
(the  former  edifice  with  considerable  architectural  beauty), 
give  the  place  an  air  of  permanence,  very  surprising  to  one 
who  has  just  arrived  from  the  East.  Beyond  the  Platte 
the  land  rises  with  a  gentle,  gradual  slope,  to  the  base  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  twelve  miles  distant,  and  there  is  no 
part  of  the  town  which  does  not  afford  a  view  of  the  great 
range.  Long's  Peak,  more  than  15,000  feet  in  height,  just 
fills  the  vista  of  the  principal  business  street.  Pike's  Peak 
is  far  to  the  left,  overlooking  the  head  of  the  Cherry  Creek 
Valley ;  consequently,  a  view  of  Denver,  in  which  it  is 
made  the  prominent  feature,  does  not  correctly  represent 
the  place. 

Although  business  of  all  kinds  is  extraordinarily  dull  at 
present,  and  the  people  are  therefore  as  much  dispirited  as 
Colorado  nature  will  admit,  Denver  seems  to  me  to  have  a 
very  brisk  and  lively  air.  A  number  of  substantial  build 
ings  are  going  up,  there  is  constant  movement  in  the  streets, 
the  hotels  are  crowded,  and  the  people  one  meets  are  brim 
ful  of  cheerful  energy.  The  stores  and  warehouses  are 
thoroughly  stocked,  and  prices  are  lower  than  one,  would 
expect,  considering  the  tedious  and  expensive  land  trans 
portation.  At  the  Pacific  Hotel  you  pay  four  dollars  per 
day,  —  no  more  than  in  New  York,  and  have  an  equally 
good  table.  There  may  not  be  such  an  excessive  bill  of 
fare,  but  I  could  distinguish  no  difference  in  the  cooking. 
Vegetables  in  the  market  are  plenty  and  cheap,  and  appear 
to  be  of  remarkably  fine  quality. 


I 

38  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

The  dryness  of  the  climate  and  occasional  extremes  of 
cold  in  winter,  appear  to  me  to  be  the  principal  drawbacks. 
Near  the  mouth  of  Cherry  Creek  there  is  a  grove  of  ven 
erable  cotton-woods,  and  perhaps  a  dozen  other  specimens 
are  dispersed  singly  through  the  lower  part  of  the  town. 
Attempts  are  now  being  made  to  colonize  this  tree  —  which 
makes  a  green  spot,  ugly  though  it  be  —  around  the  houses 
in  the  higher  streets,  and  with  a  fair  prospect  of  success. 
The  milk,  cream,  and  butter  from  the  adjoining  farms  are 
better  than  they  are  in  most  of  the  Western  States.  Veni 
son  and  antelope  are  abundant,  and  canned  fruits  supply 
the  want  of  fresh. 

The  situation  of  Denver  is  well  selected.  Were  it  nearer 
to  the  mountains,  it  would  furnish  a  more  convenient  depot 
of  supplies  for  the  Clear  Creek  mining  region,  but  it  would 
not  concentrate,  as  now,  so  many  radiating  lines  of  travel. 
It  lies,  apparently,  in  the  centre  of  the  chord  of  a  shallow 
arc  of  the  mountains,  governing  the  entrances  of  some  half- 
a-dozen  different  canons,  and  overlooking  a  belt  of  farming 
land,  fifty  miles  by  ten  in  dimensions. 

Its  prosperity,  of  course,  depends  on  the  activity  of  min 
ing  operations  in  the  mountains.  There  is  at  present  a 
stagnation,  occasioned  principally  by  the  enormous  price 
of  labor.  Although  the  new  methods  of  reduction  promise 
a  much  greater  production  of  the  precious  metals,  and  fresh 
discoveries  of  gold,  silver,  copper,  and  lead  are  being  made 
every  day,  wages  are  so  high  that  many  companies  have 
been  forced  to  suspend  business  until  the  agricultural  sup 
plies  at  home,  and  the  gradual  approach  of  the  Pacific 
Railroad,  shall  have  brought  prices  down. 

I  should  estimate  the  population  of  Denver  at  about  six 
thousand.  Probably  no  town  in  the  country  ever  grew  up 
under  such  discouraging  circumstances,  or  has  made  more 
solid  progress  in  the  same  length  of  time.  It  was  once 
swept  away  by  the  inundation  of  Cherry  Creek ;  once  or 
twice  burned  ;  threatened  with  Secession  ;  cut  off  from  in- 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS  AND  DENVER.  39 

tercourse  with  the  East  by  Indian  outbreaks ;  deprived  of 
a  great  portion  of  its  anticipated  trade  by  our  war ;  made 
to  pay  outrageously  for  its  materials  and  supplies  —  and  all 
this  within  seven  years  ! 

I  was  interested  in  noticing  how  attached  the  inhabitants 
are  to  the  place.  Nearly  every  one  who  had  recently  been 
East  seemed  rejoiced  to  return.  Even  ladies  forget  the 
greater  luxuries  and  refinements  of  the  Atlantic  coast,  when 
they  see  the  Rocky  Mountains  once  more.  The  people  look 
upon  this  glorious  Alpine  view  as  one  of  the  properties  of 
the  town.  Every  street  opens  (in  one  direction,  at  least) 
upon  it;  and  the  evening  drives  along  the  Platte  or  over  the 
flowering  ridges,  become  as  beautiful  as  any  in  the  world, 
when  the  long  line  of  snowy  peaks  flash  down  a  brighter 
gold  than  ever  was  unpacked  from  their  veins. 

There  are  no  manufactories  as  yet,  except  a  brick-yard 
and  two  flour-mills  —  the  latter  driven  by  water-power.  A 
good  gray  building  stone  is  found  about  four  miles  off.  The 
timber  is  all  brought  from  the  mountains,  which,  I  fear,  are 
in  a  fair  way  to  become  disforested.  Coal,  however,  is  com 
ing  into  general  use  as  fuel,  several  mines  having  already 
been  opened  in  the  neighborhood.  It  resembles  the  brown 
coal  of  Germany,  burns  freely,  and  is  said  to  produce  a 
great  amount  of  gas.  General  Pierce,  the  Surveyor-Gen 
eral,  considers  the  coal-bed  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  one 
of  the  largest  in  the  world.  Along  the  Smoky  Hill  there 
are  indications  of  an  uninterrupted  supply  all  the  way  to 
Kansas. 

I  find  myself  constantly  returning  to  the  point  which  my 
eyes  seek,  with  unwearied  interest,  whenever  I  lift  them 
from  the  paper.  Ever  since  my  arrival  I  have  been  study 
ing  the  mountains.  Their  beauty  and  grandeur  grow  upon 
me  with  every  hour  of  my  stay.  None  of  the  illustrations 
accompanying  the  reports  of  exploration,  and  other  Gov 
ernment  documents,  give  any  distinct  idea  of  their  variety 
and  harmony  of  forms.  Nowhere  distorted  or  grotesque 


40  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

in  outline,  never  monotonous,  lovely  in  color  and  atmos 
pheric  effect,  I  may  recall  some  mountain  chains  which 
equal,  but  none  which  surpass  them.  From  this  point 
there  appears  to  be  three  tolerably  distinct  ranges.  The 
first  rises  from  two  to  three  thousand  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  Plains ;  it  is  cloven  asunder  by  the  canons  of  the  s 
streams,  streaked  with  dark  lines  of  pine,  which  feather 
its  summits,  and  sunny  with  steep  slopes  of  pasture.  Some 
distance  behind  it  appears  a  second  range  of  nearly  double 
the  height,  more  irregular  in  its  masses,  and  of  a  dark, 
velvety,  violet  hue.  Beyond,  leaning  against  the  sky,  are 
the  snowy  peaks,  nearly  all  of  which  are  from  thirteen  to 
fifteen,  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  These  three  chains, 
with  their  varying  but  never  discordant  undulations,  are  as 
inspiring  to  the  imagination  as  they  are  enchanting  to  the 
eye.  They  hint  of  concealed  grandeurs  in  all  the  glens 
and  parks  among  them,  and  yet  hold  you  back  with  a  doubt 
whether  they  can  be  more  beautiful  near  at  hand  than  when 
beheld  at  this  distance. 

To-morrow  I  shall  move  nearer  their  bases. 


VI. 

FARMING  IN   COLORADO. 

GOLDEN  CITY,  C.  T.,  June  21, 1866. 

I  VERILY  think  that  if  those  who  six  years  ago  saw  noth 
ing  but  arid  hills  and  fields  of  cactus,  forbidding  cultiva 
tion,  could  behold  some  parts  of  Colorado  at  present,  they 
would  open  their  eyes  in  astonishment.  My  approach  to 
Denver  did  not  furnish  the  least  suggestion  of  farming,  and 
all  the  attempts  which  one  sees  from  the  city  are  a  few 
patches  of  vegetables  along  the  Platte.  But  the  agricultu 
ral  interest,  without  which  a  mining  community  so  remote 
as  this  cannot  subsist,  has  really  reached  a  development 
which  is  remarkable,  when  we  consider  the  discouragements 
to  which  it  has  been  subjected. 

I  am  fast  inclining  toward  the  opinion  that  there  is  no 
American  Desert  on  this  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Belts  of  arid  and  sandy  soil  there  certainly  are,  but  I  doubt 
if  any  of  these  are  more  than  fifty  miles  in  breadth,  while 
there  are  many  points  where  an  unbroken  line  of  habitable 
territory  may  be  followed  from  the  Missouri  to  the  base  of 
the  mountains.  I  remember  that  as  late  as  1859,  the  low 
est  computation  of  the  extent  of  the  Desert  was  two  hun 
dred  miles ;  yet  in  the  Smoky  Hill  route  I  saw  less  than 
fifty  miles  to  which  the  term  could  properly  be  applied. 
What  I  have  since  learned  of  farming  under  these  new 
conditions  of  climate  and  soil,  leads  me  to  suspect  that  time 
and  settlement  may  subdue  even  this  narrow  belt;  that 
there  may  some  day  be  groves  and  farms  on  the  treeless 
plains  ;  that  wheat  may  usurp  the  place  of  buffalo-grass,  and 
potatoes  drive  out  the  cactus. 


42  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

It  almost  seems  as  if  Nature  were  in  the  habit  of  making 
a  last  desperate  attempt  to  resist  the  subjugation  of  her 
wild,  unploughed  domains.  For  a  few  years  the  settlers  are 
obliged  to  battle  with  a  combination  of  hostile  influences. 
The  droughts  of  Kansas,  and  the  grasshoppers  of  Utah  and 
Colorado  are  exceptional  agents,  which  have  given  a  false 
impression  in  other  parts  of  the  Union.  I  found  Kansas, 
as  you  may  have  noted,  a  land  of  rain,  of  soggy  meadows, 
and  swollen  streams  ;  I  find  Colorado,  where  farming  was 
pronounced  almost  hopeless,  already  crossed  by  zones  of 
the  richest  agricultural  promise.  The  effect  of  energy  and 
industry  upon  the  soil  even  now  shows  its  fruits ;  the  effect 
of  cultivation  upon  climate  (an  agency  generally  under 
estimated)  is  yet  to  follow. 

Two  days  ago  Captain  Sopris  took  me  out  to  his  farm  on 
Clear  Creek,  about  five  miles  from  Denver.  Crossing  the 
new  and  substantial  plank  bridge  over  the  Platte,  we  first 
glanced  at  the  adjoining  vegetable  garden.  I  must  con 
fess,  however,  that  I  saw  more  sunflowers  than  anything 
else.  Only  a  part  of  the  garden  appeared  to  be  cultivated  ; 
the  soil  was  black  and  deep,  and  with  proper  care  there 
would  be  but  little  limit  to  its  productiveness.  The  profu 
sion  of  sunflowers  —  not  an  indigenous  growth,  I  believe  — 
is  remarkable.  From  Fort  Kiley  to  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
wherever  a  wagon  has  made  a  rut  in  the  soil,  there  springs 
up  a  rank  hedge  of  the  plant.  The  pig-weed,  horse-weed, 
and  datura  stramonium  are  also  rapidly  advancing  westward. 
I  found  them  some  distance  this  side  of  Fort  Ellsworth. 

Rising  to  what  are  called  "the  second  bottoms,"  a 
gently  inclined  shelf,  extending  from  the  mountains  to  the 
Platte,  we  had  a  view  down  the  river,  and  saw  the  first  in 
dications  of  farming.  Near  at  hand  was  a  farm  of  three 
hundred  and  twenty  acres,  the  owner  of  which  is  inclosing 
the  whole  with  a  high  post-fence,  at  a  cost  of  about  two 
dollars  and  a  half  per  rod.  A  neat  cottage  farm-house,  at 
the  commencement  of  the  river-bottoms,  pleasantly  hinted 


FARMING  IN  COLORADO.  43 

of  permanent  occupation.  Beyond  this  farm,  still  mostly 
in  the  rough,  stretched  a  succession  of  dark-green  fields  of 
wheat,  on  both  sides  of  the  stream,  which,  divided  into 
many  arms,  sparkled  between  its  islands  and  banks  of  cot 
ton-wood.  The  rising  grounds  were  already  beginning  to 
grow  tawny  under  the  summer  sun,  and  these  low-lying 
belts  of  grain  and  trees  made  a  dazzling  contrast  of  color. 
For  some  miles  down  the  Platte  I  could  trace  a  continuous 
line  of  farms  and  preemption  cabins. 

The  undulating  higher  ground  across  which  we  struck 
in  a  straight  line,  toward  Clear  Creek,  was  covered  with 
grass,  lupins,  a  multitude  of  brilliant  flowering-plants,  and 
cactus.  Dry  as  it  appears,  it  furnishes  good  pasturage 
during  the  whole  year,  and  irrigation  will  convert  the  whole 
of  it  into  grain-fields.  I  remember  that  my  admiration  of 
the  agricultural  capacities  of  California,  in  1849,  subjected 
me  to  many  derogatory  epithets ;  hence,  one  who  crosses 
these  brown  plains  at  the  end  of  summer,  may  laugh  in 
credulously  when  I  say  that  all  the  country  between  the 
river  and  the  mountains  —  every  upland  and  ridge  where 
water  can  be  made  to  flow  —  will  in  time  be  as  rich  a  farm 
ing  region  as  any  in  the  East.  The  capacity  of  soil  to  hold 
moisture  will  increase  ;  trees  will  then  grow  where  it  would 
now  be  hopeless  to  plant  them  ;  hedges  will  take  the  place 
of  costly  fences,  and  the  character  of  the  country  will  un 
dergo  a  complete  change. 

Captain  Sopris's  ranche  is  on  a  bluff"  overlooking  the  val 
ley  of  Clear  Creek.  From  the  window  of  his  parlor  I 
looked  out  upon  several  miles  of  beautiful  wheat,  a  long 
pasture-ridge  beyond,  and  the  grand  summit  of  Long's  Peak 
in  the  distance.  Ten  farmers  here  have  united  their  forces, 
and  made  a  ditch  ten  miles  in  length,  by  which  their  fields 
are  irrigated.  The  usual  yield  of  wheat,  under  this  system, 
is  thirty  bushels  to  the  acre,  and  the  price,  up  to  this  time, 
has  ranged  from  five  to  twenty-five  cents  per  pound.  You 
can  see  that  farming,  even  at  the  lowest  rates,  is  a  good 


44  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

business  in  Colorado  Oats  produce  about  forty,  and  corn 
fifty  bushels  to  the  acre,  —  the  price  ranging  from  two  to  five 
dollars  per  bushel. 

It  is  remarkable  how  soon  the  farmers  have  adapted 
themselves  to  the  new  conditions  of  their  occupation.  They 
seem  already  to  prefer  the  secure  yield  which  irrigation 
offers,  to  the  uncertain  prospects  of  a  more  variable  cli 
mate.  The  principal  labor  and  expense  is  the  construction 
of  the  irrigating  canal ;  that  once  made,  it  is  an  easy  mat 
ter  to  watch  and  flood  their  fields  whenever  necessary. 
This  season  it  has  not  yet  been  generally  needed ;  but 
from  now  until  the  end  of  July,  when  the  wheat  ripens, 
the  process  must  be  frequently  repeated.  Against  the 
plague  of  grasshoppers  there  is  no  protection ;  this  year, 
however,  promises  to  be  free  from  that  scourge. 

The  vegetables  in  the  garden  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff 
were  thriving  finely.  But  out  of  three  hundred  grape-vines 
which  Captain  S.  has  imported,  only  a  dozen  are  now  liv 
ing.  Although  the  winters  are  remarkably  mild,  there  are 
now  and  then  days  of  such  extreme  cold  that  vines  and 
fruit-trees  of  all  kinds  perish.  If  the  young  trees  were  pro 
cured  from  Minnesota  rather  than  nurseries  further  south, 
they  would  probably  be  more  likely  to  endure  the  climate. 
Thus  far  the  attempts  at  fruit-growing  have  been  failures  ; 
yet  the  fact  that  at  Salt  Lake,  much  further  to  the  north, 
there  has  been  perfect  success,  should  encourage  the  Col 
orado  farmers  to  try  again. 

After  dining  with  the  Captain  and  his  amiable  family, 
we  returned  by  a  road  skirting  Clear  Creek  to  Fisher's 
Ranche,  where  I  saw  six  hundred  acres  of  grain  in  one 
body.  The  entire  number  of  acres  planted  in  the  Territory 
this  year  is  estimated  at  seventy  thousand  —  which  will 
supply  the  wants  of  the  entire  population.  The  more  san 
guine  expect  to  send  a  small  surplus  to  Montana.  This  is 
really  an  astonishing  fact.  In  a  Territory  only  seven  years 
old,  six  hundred  miles  from  other  settlements,  which  attracts 


FARMING  IN  COLORADO.  45 

principally  a  mining  and  speculating  population,  and  was 
supposed  to  have  the  most  limited  capacity  for  agriculture, 
the  people  are  already  independent,  self-sustaining,  in  re 
gard  to  food ! 

My  friend,  Mr.  D.  T.  Smith,  piloted  me  around  the  im 
mediate  neighborhood  of  Denver,  and  gave  me  further 
opportunities  for  strengthening  the  views  which  my  trip 
to  Clear  Creek  had  suggested.  I  saw  that  the  country  to 
the  east  of  Cherry  Creek  and  the  Platte  is  quite  as  fertile 
as  that  to  the  westward,  and  could  easily  credit  the  asser 
tion  of  General  Pierce  that  the  supply  of  water  is  sufficient, 
with  an  adequate  irrigating  canal,  to  bring  under  cultiva 
tion  four  hundred  thousand  acres  of  land.  I  have  no  doubt 
it  will  be  found  true  of  all  parts  of  the  Plains,  that  wher 
ever  water  can  be  had,  farming  will  be  profitable.  Even 
where  there  are  no  running  streams,  wells  with  water- 
wheels  driven  by  wind,  as  in  California,  may  supply  their 
place.  An  old  frontiersman  assured  me  that  wherever 
there  is  a  town  of  prairie-dogs,  water  will  be  found  at  a 
depth  of  from  twenty  to  thirty  feet.  Now,  in  my  memory, 
the  road  from  Fort  Ellsworth  to  the  Platte  is  one  grand 
prairie-  dog  metropolis  \  so  there  ought  to  be  no  scarcity  of 
water.  In  Kansas,  living  springs  are  making  their  appear 
ance,  as  the  country  becomes  cultivated.  Nature,  after 
vainly  attempting  to  drive  off  Man,  makes  up  her  mind  to 
reward  his  persistence.  Perhaps  I  dwell  a  little  pertina 
ciously  upon  this  one  point ;  but,  the  truth  is,  I  have  never 
been  more  astonished  than  on  finding  this  vast  central 
region  so  very  different  from  what  previous  accounts  had 
led  me  to  imagine. 

A  private  company  is  now  at  work,  constructing  a  large 
ditch,  which  is  to  water  the  streets  and  gardens  of  Denver. 
This  will  give  the  place  the  one  charm  it  now  lacks.  Add 
verdure  to  its  superb  situation,  and  it  will  be  one  of  the 
most  delightful  inland  cities  in  the  country.  There  is  at 
present  a  small  stream,  the  water  of  which  is  chiefly  applied 


46  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

to  the  encouragement  of  young  cotton-woods,  both  poplar 
and  willow-leaved,  which  are  set  out  so  thickly  around  some 
houses  that  the  owners  evidently  do  not  expect  the  half  of 
them  to  grow.  Some  of  the  trees  were  flourishing  vigor 
ously,  with  a  good  prospect  of  life ;  others,  although  irri 
gated,  were  withered  and  dying.  The  difference,  no  doubt, 
lay  in  the  care  with  which  they  had  been  transplanted. 

This  morning  I  left  Denver  for  my  mountain  tour.  As 
far  as  this  place,  at  the  base  of  the  first  range,  —  a  distance 
of  about  fifteen  miles,  —  the  country  is  rapidly  coming 
under  cultivation.  Ditches  are  being  carried  from  Clear 
Creek  over  all  parts  of  the  undulating  slope  stretching 
down  from  the  mountains,  and  it  was  a  cheering  sight  to 
find  a  large  field  of  the  greenest  wheat  upon  one  of  the 
highest  points,  in  the  midst  of  a  plain  studded  with  cactus. 
A  short  distance  from  Denver,  one  of  the  ditches  has  been 
turned  into  a  natural  basin  a  mile  in  diameter,  forming  a 
lake  of  that  extent,  around  which  large  herds  of  cattle 
were  grazing.  We  found  a  number  of  men  at  work,  con 
structing  new  ditches  by  a  very  simple  process.  Several 
furrows  are  first  ploughed,  and  then  the  dirt  is  shovelled 
out  rapidly  by  a  broad  frame  of  timber,  drawn  by  horses 
in  a  lateral  direction.  Our  course  was  sometimes  im 
peded  by  the  number  of  these  ditches,  which  are  not  yet 
bridged,  especially  in  descending  toward  Clear  Creek, 
which  we  struck  three  miles  below  the  point  where  it  is 
sues  from  the  mountains. 

Here  we  were  favored  by  an  invitation  to  visit  the  farm 
of  Mr.  Miles,  and  try  the  flavor  of  Colorado  strawberries. 
This  gentleman,  I  learn,  sold  his  last  year's  wheat  crop  at 
eighteen  cents  the  pound  (ten  dollars  and.  eighty  cents  per 
bushel),  and  is  now  selling  his  entire  stock  of  strawberries 
at  ninety-six  dollars  a  bushel !  The  severe  winter  two  or 
three  years  ago  destroyed  almost  his  entire  stock  of  plants, 
but  the  few  he  saved  are  now  richly  repaying  him  for  the 
loss. 


FARMING  IN  COLORADO.  47 

Mr.  Miles  was  not  at  home,  but  his  wife  welcomed  us  to 
their  neat  cottage  of  concrete,  which,  with  the  barn,  sta 
bles,  and  haystacks,  already  wore  an  air  of  old  settlement. 
The  garden,  though  still  in  the  rough,  was  very  luxuriant. 
The  strawberries  (Albany  Seedlings)  seemed  to  me  of 
smaller  size,  but  of  finer  flavor  than  in  the  East.  With  the 
golden  cream  which  our  friendly  hostess  furnished,  we  could 
not  have  asked  for  anything  more  delicious.  Around  the 
house  the  lupin,  coreopsis,  larkspur,  and  sweet-pea  were 
growing  wild. 

I  here  noticed  a  new,  and  to  me  a  surprising,  result  of 
cultivation.  Part  of  the  bottom-land  was  originally  alka 
line,  the  white  streaks  being  still  discernible ;  yet  the  crops 
growing  upon  it  were,  if  anything,  more  luxuriant  than  else 
where.  Captain  West,  my  companion  to  Golden  City,  in 
formed  me  that  upon  his  own  ranche  an  alkaline  patch, 
bare  of  vegetation,  has  now  become  the  best  part  of  his 
garden.  The  use  of  manure  is  said  to  neutralize  the  alkali 
in  a  very  short  space  of  time. 

Before  us  rose  the  curious  elevation  known  as  the  Table 
Mountain.  As  seen  from  Denver  it  resembles  a  slice  of 
cheese  lying  on  its  side,  and  with  a  crack  through  the  mid 
dle.  Immediately  behind  it  is  the  first  range  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  this  apparent  crack  is  the  canon  through 
which  Clear  Creek  makes  its  way.  On  approaching  nearer, 
the  straight,  slanting  summit  breaks  into  a  very  irregular 
outline,  with  bold,  rocky  buttresses  and  deep  indentations. 
The  top,  on  both  sides  of  the  Creek,  is  a  mesa,  or  table 
land,  which  furnishes  superb  pasturage  for  cattle  through 
out  the  entire  year.  A  small  lake  supplies  the  herds  with 
water,  and  the  grass,  however  parched  in  autumn  or  dry  in 
winter,  never  seems  to  lose  its  fattening  properties. 

A  drive  of  about  two  miles  through  the  gorge  between 
the  two  parts  of  Table  Mountain,  brought  us  to  the  beau 
tiful  little  circular  valley  in  which  Golden  City  lies  hidden. 
Just  above  the  place  is  the  present  limit  of  farming.  The 


48  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

canon  of  Clear  Creek  is  walled  in  by  steep,  forbidding 
mountains,  but  there  is  pasturage  on  all  the  heights.  Each 
one  of  the  Creeks  which  issue  from  the  mountains  to  join 
the  Platte,  is  attracting  a  farming  population.  On  Bear 
Creek,  to  the  south,  and  the  branches  of  Boulder  Creek, 
to  the  north,  I  hear  there  are  already  many  fine  farms. 

If  a  new  system  of  agriculture  has  been  learned,  and 
such  results  attained  within  six  years,  is  it  too  much  to 
assert  that  the  farming  interests  of  Colorado  will  keep  pace 
with  the  development  of  her  extraordinary  mineral  wealth, 
and  that,  no  matter  what  amount  of  population  may  here 
after  be  attracted  to  her  mountains,  her  plains  are  capable 
of  feeding  them  ? 


vn. 

ENTERING   THE   ROCKY  MOUNTAINS. 

CENTRAL  CITY,  June,  23, 1866. 

GOLDEN  CITY  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  the  capital 
of  Colorado  Territory.  That  is,  the  Legislature  regularly 
meets  there,  but  adjourns  to  Denver  before  transacting  any 
other  business.  The  population  is  not  more  than  three 
or  four  hundred,  and  the  place  has  a  quiet  and  rather  for 
lorn  appearance  at  present.  It  possesses,  nevertheless, 
several  substantial  stores,  a  school-house,  two  flour-mills 
(Clear  Creek  furnishing  excellent  water-power),  and  a 
manufactory  of  fire-brick.  From  this  time  forward  it 
will  rise  in  importance. 

The  discovery  of  coal  is  of  scarcely  less  consequence  to 
this  region  than  that  of  gold  and  silver.  Along  the  east 
ern  base  of  the  range,  brown  coal  of  excellent  quality  has 
been  found  for  a  distance  of  three  hundred  miles,  and  the 
indications  continue  through  Montana.  I  saw,  forty  miles 
east  of  Denver,  among  the  Platte  Hills,  a  bold  out-crop  of 
coal,  projecting  two  or  three  feet  above  the  earth.  Further 
in  the  mountain,  the  Albertine,  or  oil-bearing  coal,  yielding 
one  hundred  and  four  gallons  to  the  ton,  has  been  discov 
ered.  The  supply  of  fuel  for  the  Pacific  Railroad,  and  for 
all  smelting  and  manufacturing  purposes,  is  therefore  as 
sured  for  centuries  to  come. 

I  visited  the  veins  of  fire-clay  and  coal,  which  are  found 
in  conjunction,  within  half  a  mile  of  Golden  City.  The 
clay  is  found  in  large  beds  of  a  chocolate  color  and  greasy 
texture.  Two  horizontal  shafts  have  been  opened  into  the 

4 


50  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

side  of  the  hill,  and  the  carts  are  loaded  directly  at  their 
mouths.  The  clay  is  first  burned,  then  ground,  after  which 
it  is  moulded  and  pressed  into  the  requisite  forms.  Although 
the  business  is  in  its  very  commencement,  enough  has  been 
done  to  assure  its  entire  success.  The  proprietors  have 
already  commenced  the  manufacture  of  tiles  for  roofing, 
which,  I  suspect,  will  ere  long  come  into  general  use. 

The  coal,  commencing  at  the  surface  with  a  streak  of 
"  color  "  (as  the  miners  say  of  gold),  broadens  so  rapidly 
that  at  the  depth  of  twenty-five  feet  I  found  a  vertical  stra 
tum  fourteen  feet  in  breadth.  If  it  continues  to  increase 
at  the  same  rate  for  one  hundred  feet  further,  the  immense 
supply  may  easily  be  imagined.  This  Rocky  Mountain 
coal,  I  understand,  is  always  found  in  vertical  seams,  while 
the  bituminous  coal  along  the  Smoky  Hill  Fork  is  disposed 
in  horizontal  strata.  The  valley  of  the  Platte,  after  leaving 
the  rolling  country  at  the  base  of  the  mountains,  appears 
to  lie  between  the  two  formations.  The  examination,  how 
ever,  is  so  superficial,  that  nothing  very  positive  can  yet  be 
asserted.  Coal  is  beginning  to  be  found  abundantly  in 
Southern  Kansas,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  gaps  between 
the  beds  already  discovered  may  yet  be  filled  up. 

Standing  on  this  great  bed  of  coal  and  fire-clay,  at  Golden 
City,  I  looked  eastward  across  the  creek,  and  saw  a  ridge 
of  limestone  rock,  and  the  indications  of  a  quarry  which 
has  just  been  opened.  My  companions  pointed  out  to  me 
the  location  of  beds  of  the  finest  iron  ore,  all  within  the 
radius  of  a  mile.  The  iron  is  said  to  be  of  unusually  fine 
quality.  Mr.  Loveland  of  this  place  has  proposed  to  erect 
a  rolling-mill,  and  manufacture  rails  for  the  Pacific  Com 
pany,  enabling  them  to  commence  the  road  eastward  from 
the  base  of  the  mountains,  to  meet  the  branches  starting 
from  Omaha  and  Wyandotte.  Considering  that  all  the 
requisite  heavy  machinery  must  be  freighted  across  from 
the  Missouri  River,  this  would  seem,  at  first  sight,  to  be  a 
hazardous  enterprise  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  saving  in 


ENTERING  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  51 

the  cost  of  transporting  rails  for  the  road  would  be  so  im 
mense,  that  I  cannot  pronounce  the  plan  unreasonable.  It 
is  quite  certain  that  all  the  rails  for  the  central  division  of 
the  road  must  be  manufactured  here  and  in  Nevada. 

There  will,  in  time,  be  a  railroad  from  the  mining  regions 
on  the  upper  waters  of  Clear  Creek  to  Golden  City ;  and 
many  of  the  companies  will  then  find  it  to  their  advantage 
to  establish  their  smelting  works  at  the  latter  place.  Let 
no  one  be  deceived  by  present  indications.  The  quiet  of 
Golden  City  will  not  endure  much  longer ;  and  the  day 
may  not  be  far  off  when  the  smokes  from  its  tall  chimneys, 
rising  up  behind  Table  Mountain,  will  be  seen  at  Denver. 
I  only  wish  that  the  vulgar,  snobbish  custom  of  attaching 
"  City  "  to  every  place  of  more  than  three  houses,  could  be 
stopped.  From  Illinois  to  California  it  has  become  a  gen 
eral  nuisance,  telling  only  of  swagger  and  want  of  taste, 
not  of  growth.  Why  not  call  it  "  Goldenport "  (as  it  will 
become  a  sort  of  harbor  to  which  the  ores  will  be  shipped), 
or  any  other  simple  name  ?  In  the  Russian  language  two 
unnecessary  accents  usurp  one  seventh  of  the  typography ; 
and  in  Colorado,  if  one  talks  much  about  the  mining  towns, 
he  must  add  one  seventh  to  his  speech  in  repeating  the 
useless  word  "  City/' 

The  age  of  law  and  order  has  not  yet  arrived.  The  peo 
ple  pointed  out  to  me  a  tree,  to  which  some  of  them  had 
hung  a  Mexican,  last  week,  on  account  of  an  attempted 
assault  upon  two  ladies  of  the  place.  The  criminal  was 
taken  from  the  sheriffs  hands  and  lynched ;  and  the  few 
remaining  Mexican  residents,  who  appear  to  have  had  no 
fellowship  with  him,  are  ordered  to  leave  the  place.  Affairs 
of  this  kind  make  an  unpleasant  impression.  The  impro 
vised  code  of  a  new  settlement  is  no  longer  necessary  here, 
and  it  seems  to  exist  by  virtue  of  a  lingering  taste  for  rude 
and  violent  justice. 

I  found  simple  but  clean  quarters,  and  an  excellent  table, 
at  Cheney's  Hotel ;  addressed  a  limited  audience  in  the  even- 


52  '    COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

ing,  and  took  the  coach  for  this  place  yesterday  morning,  at 
ten  o'clock.  The  new  road,  following  Clear  Creek  canon, 
has  been  made  impassable  by  floods ;  and  the  old  road,  some 
miles  further  eastward,  is  now  used.  It  pierces  the  first 
range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  by  the  canon  of  a  small 
stream,  at  the  mouth  whereof  are  four  or  five  log-houses, 
styled  Gate-  City  !  The  defile  is  very  narrow,  abrupt,  and 
with  such  sudden  turns  that  for  a  space  the  road  seems 
every  moment  to  come  to  a  sudden  termination.  Huge 
masses  of  dark  red  and  purple  rock  topple  on  either  side ; 
there  is  little  timber  to  be  seen,  but  a  profusion  of  wild 
gooseberries  and  currants,  and  a  bush  resembling  the 
broom.  The  bed  of  the  brook  is  crowded  with  young  cot 
ton-woods  and  box-elders,  in  the  shade  of  which  new  vari 
eties  of  wild  flowers  grow  luxuriantly.  I  hailed  the  Alpine 
harebell  as  an  old  friend,  and  inhaled  the  delicious  per 
fume  blown  from  clumps  of  mountain  roses.  The  wild 
hop-vine  was  very  abundant,  spreading  its  arms  over  the 
rock,  in  lieu  of  other  supports. 

After  two  or  three  miles  the  pass  became  broader  and 
straighter,  and  we  could  look  up  to  the  crest  of  the  moun 
tains.  It  was  dismal  to  see  how  much  of  the  pine  forests, 
with  which  the  steeps  were  clothed,  have  been  wantonly 
or  carelessly  destroyed  by  fire.  The  rock  now  appeared  to 
be  a  kind  of  gneiss,  gray,  with  pale  orange  oxydations, 
which  gave  the  scenery  something  of  the  character  of  the 
Apennines.  I  did  not  find,  as  I  expected,  much  vegetation. 
The  dry  soil,  the  bare  masses  of  rock,  the  dusty  road,  and 
the  hot,  cloudless  sky  overhead,  all  suggested  Southern 
Europe,  rather  than  Switzerland  or  our  mountain  regions 
of  the  East. 

We  followed  this  canon  for  some  eight  or  ten  miles,  oc 
casionally  passing  a  saw-mill,  or  tavern-ranche,  patronized 
by  the  freighters.  Then  we  reached  Guy's  Hill,  where  the 
road  crosses  the  divide,  and  we  were  requested  by  the 
driver  to  climb  to  the  summit  on  foot.  It  was  but  half  a 


ENTERING  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  53 

mile  of  rather  breathless  walking  in  the  thin  air,  and  we 
stood  upon  a  narrow  crest,  overlooking  a  deep,  pine-clad 
valley  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  The  dark  summits 
of  the  second  range  rose  against  the  sky,  and  only  one 
small  snowy  peak  was  visible.  Here  the  forests,  although 
neither  large  nor  dense,  were  still  untouched,  and  multi 
tudes  of  silvery  aspens  were  mingled  with  the  pines. 

The  descent  looked  dangerously  steep ;  but  our  driver, 
with  locked  wheels,  went  down  on  a  trot,  passing  two  ox- 
teams  with  wonderful  skill.  The  valley  we  now  entered 
was  greener  and  fresher  than  the  first,  and  with  a  tolera 
bly  level  bottom,  along  which  we  bowled  to  the  Michigan 
House,  where  dinner  awaited  us,  —  an  excellent  meal,  at 
one  dollar  and  fifty  cents.  The  water  was  unsurpassed  in 
coolness  and  agreeable  flavor. 

The  road  now  gradually  swerved  to  the  left,  rising  to 
another  divide,  whence  the  splendors  of  the  snowy  range 
burst  upon  us.  Broad  wedges  of  rock  and  snow,  soaring 
to  a  height  of  fourteen  thousand  feet,  glittered  in  the  clear 
sky,  apparently  close  at  hand,  although  they  were  still 
fifteen  miles  distant.  Our  own  elevation  above  the  sea 
could  not  have  been  less  than  eight  thousand  feet.  The 
air  was  thin,  but  wonderfully  cool,  pure,  and  transparent. 
The  only  thing  the  scene  lacked  was  fresh  mountain  turf, 
—  a  feature  which  I  have  not  yet  found. 

We  descended  from  this  crest  into  a  deep  glen,  the  sides 
of  which  were  better  wooded.  Here  and  there  we  passed 
a  grazing-ranche  or  saw-mill,  and  the  road  was  filled  with 
heavy  freight  teams.  Two  miles  of  rapid  descent,  and  we 
suddenly  emerged  upon  the  canon  of  North  Clear  Creek. 
Here  commenced,  at  once,  the  indications  of  mining.  The 
precipitous  sides  of  the  canon  were  freckled  with  the  holes 
and  dirt-piles  of  experimental  shafts ;  the  swift  waters  of  the 
stream  had  the  hue  of  "  tailings ; "  and  presently  the  smoke 
from  the  smelting  works  of  the  Lyons  Company  began  to 
cloud  the  pure  mountain  air. 


54  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

Beyond  this  point,  which  is  already  thickly  studded  with 
houses,  and  is  called  Lyonsville,  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road 
discloses  a  view  of  Black  Hawk,  with  its  charming  church 
perched  above  the  town,  on  the  extremity  of  the  headland 
which  separates  Gregory  Gulch  from  that  of  Clear  Creek. 
We  at  once  entered  a  busy,  noisy,  thickly  populated  region. 
The  puff  of  steam,  the  dull  thump  of  the  stamp-mills,  and 
all  the  other  sounds  of  machinery  at  work,  filled  the  air ; 
the  road  became  a  continuous  street,  with  its  hotels,  stores, 
livery  stables,  and  crowded  dwelling-houses. 

Turning  into  Gregory  Gulch,  we  slowly  mounted  through 
Black  Hawk  and  Mountain  City  to  this  place ;  but  all  three 
places  form  in  reality  one  continuous  town,  more  than  two 
miles  long,  and  with  over  six  thousand  inhabitants.  The 
houses  are  jammed  into  the  narrow  bed  of  the  canon,  em 
ploying  all  sorts  of  fantastic  expedients  to  find  room  and 
support  themselves.  Under  them  a  filthy  stream  falls  down 
the  defile  over  a  succession  of  dams.  It  is  a  wonderfully 
curious  and  original  place,  strongly  resembling  Guanajuato 
in  its  position  and  surroundings. 


vm. 

CENTRAL    CITY  AND   BLACK   HAWK. 

CENTRAL  CITY,  COLORADO,  June  25,  1866. 

THIS  place  and  the  adjoining  towns  of  Black  Hawk  and 
Nevada  are  so  buried  in  the  wrinkles  and  crevices  of  what 
I  have  termed  the  second  range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
that  I  could  not  fully  comprehend  their  position  until  last 
evening,  when  I  went  upon  the  point  called  Bates  Hill, 
which  divides  Gregory  Gulch  from  the  valley  of  North 
Clear  Creek.  On  that  station,  the  maze  of  mountains  and 
gulches  gradually  untangled,  and  the  relation  of  the  differ 
ent  mining  localities  to  each  other  became  clear.  The 
South  Clear  comes  down  from  the  snowy  range  in  a  south 
easterly  direction ;  while  Gregory  Gulch,  rising  from  it  at 
a  general  angle  of  about  twenty  degrees,  extends  nearly 
due  west  for  about  three  miles,  gradually  losing  itself  in 
minor  gulches  and  ravines  among  the  summits  of  the 
mountains. 

Black  Hawk  commences  a  little  below  the  intersection, 
and  thrusts  an  arm  up  either  gorge,  like  the  letter  Y,  ex 
cept  that  the  left-hand  arm  has  outgrown  the  other,  and 
now  forms  a  continuous  line  of  building  and  business,  up 
Gregory  Gulch  to  Mountain  City,  which  is  a  connecting 
link  between  Black  Hawk  and  Central  City.  The  latter 
place  continues  the  line  of  compact  settlement  up  the  bot 
tom  of  the  gulch  for  a  mile  further,  and  almost  forms  a 
connection  with  Nevada  City,  which  occupies  the  highest 
position,  near  the  summit.  Black  Hawk  is  exactly  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  the  upper  part  of  Nevada 
is  at  least  a  thousand  feet  higher. 


56  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

The  view  of  the  intersecting  ravines  (they  can  hardly 
be  called  valleys,  and  "  gulch  "  is  a  mining  term)  and  the 
steep,  ponderous  mountains  which  inclose  them,  has  a  cer 
tain  largeness  and  breadth  of  effect,  but  is  by  no  means 
picturesque.  The  timber  has  been  wholly  cut  away,  except 
upon  some  of  the  more  distant  steeps,  where  its  dark  green 
is  streaked  with  ghastly  marks  of  fire.  The  great,  awk 
wardly  rounded  mountains  are  cut  up  and  down  by  the 
lines  of  paying  "  lodes,"  and  pitted  all  over  by  the  holes 
and  heaps  of  rocks  made  either  by  prospectors  or  to  secure 
claims.  Nature  seems  to  be  suffering  from  an  attack  of 
confluent  small-pox.  My  experience  in  California  taught 
me  that  gold-mining  utterly  ruins  the  appearance  of  a 
country,  and  therefore  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  I  see 
here.  On  the  contrary,  this  hideous  slashing,  tearing,  and 
turning  upside  down  is  the  surest  indication  of  mineral 
wealth. 

Commencing  at  Black  Hawk, —  where  the  sole  pleasant 
object  is  the  Presbyterian  Church,  white,  tasteful,  and 
charmingly  placed  on  the  last  step  of  Bates  Hill,  above 
the  chimneys  and  mills  in  the  uniting  ravines,  —  we  mount 
Gregory  Gulch  by  a  rough,  winding,  dusty  road,  lined  with 
crowded  wooden  buildings:  hotels,  with  pompous  names 
and  limited  accommodations  ;  drinking  saloons,  —  "  lager 
beer "  being  a  frequent  sign ;  bakeries,  log  and  frame 
dwelling-houses,  idle  mills,  piles  of  rusty  and  useless  ma 
chinery  tumbled  by  the  wayside,  and  now  and  then  a  cot 
tage  in  the  calico  style,  with  all  sorts  of  bra'ckets  and 
carved  drop-cornices.  In  the  centre  of  the  gulch  rushes  a 
stream  of  muddy  water,  sometimes  dammed  up  to  broaden 
the  bed  and  obtain  a  little  more  foothold  for  houses.  Be 
yond  the  large  mill  built  by  ex-General  Fitz-John  Porter 
for  an  unfortunate  New  York  company,  who  paid  a  large 
sum  to  repeat  the  experience  of  the  National  Government, 
Black  Hawk  terminates;  but  the  houses,  mills,  drinking 
saloons,  and  shops  continue  just  the  same,  and  in  another' 
half-mile  you  find  yourself  in  Central  City. 


CENTRAL  CITY  AND  BLACK  HAWK.  57 

This  place  consists  mainly  of  one  street,  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  gulch ;  the  houses  on  your  left,  as  you 
ascend,  resting  on  high  posts  or  scaffolding,  over  the  deep 
bed  of  the  stream.  Half-way  up  there  is  a  single  cross- 
street  some  three  hundred  feet  in  length,  where  the  prin 
cipal  stores  are  jammed  together  in  an  incredibly  small 
space.  With  one  exception,  the  buildings  are  frame,  dry 
as  tinder  at  this  season ;  and  a  fire,  starting  at  the  top  of 
the  town,  with  a  wind  blowing  down  the  ravine,  would  wipe 
out  the  place  in  half  an  hour.  The  whole  string  of  four 
cities  has  a  curious,  rickety,  temporary  air,  with  their  build 
ings  standing  as  if  on  one  leg,  their  big  signs  and  little 
accommodations,  the  irregular,  wandering,  uneven  street, 
and  the  bald,  scarred,  and  pitted  mountains  on  either  side. 
Everything  is  odd,  grotesque,  unusual ;  but  no  feature  can 
be  called  attractive. 

I  took  quarters  at  the  St.  Nicholas  Hotel,  of  which  I  will 
only  say  that  the  board  is  five  dollars  per  day.  The  unac 
customed  thinness  of  the  air  caused  me  considerable  incon 
venience  at  first.  I  felt  a  painful  giddiness  for  an  hour  or 
two,  could  scarcely  walk  twenty  steps  without  halting  to 
take  breath,  and  have  had  bleeding  at  the  nose  for  three 
mornings  in  succession.  This  is  a  common  complaint  with 
new-comers,  and  the  old  settlers  can  always  recognize  such 
by  their  bloody  pocket-handkerchiefs.  The  days  are  hot 
and  rather  sultry,  but  the  mornings  and  evenings  are  lovely 
in  their  freshness,  clearness,  and  the  delicious  purity  of  the 
air.  Two  things  are  hardly  to  be  surpassed,  —  water  and 
sleep.  The  water  is  like  crystal,  icy  cold,  and  so  agree 
able  to  the  palate  that  I  am  tempted  to  drink  it  when  not 
thirsty.  It  is  said  to  contain  a  slight  proportion  of  alkali, 
and  a  common  phrase  among  the  people  attributes  their 
irregularities  to  the  "  thin  air  and  alkali  water."  The  prop 
erties  of  the  latter,  however,  are  said  to  be  an  aphrodisiac, 
which  is  rather  an  advantage  than  otherwise,  in  a  new 
country.  As  for  sleep,  I  don't  know  when  I  have  found 


58  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

it  so  easy  to  obtain,  or  so  difficult  to  relinquish.  When  I 
awake  in  the  morning  the  half-conscious  sense  that  I  have 
been  asleep  is  so  luxurious  that  I  immediately  sleep  again, 
and  each  permitted  nap  is  sweeter  than  the  last.  The 
people  seem  to  be  remarkably  healthy.  Incipient  disease 
of  the  lungs  is  almost  always  healed  in  this  high  and  dry 
atmosphere,  while  it  is  fatal  to  the  more  advanced  stages. 
Rheumatism  and  the  mountain-fever  are  the  most  usual 
ailments.  There  is,  at  the  same  time,  less  tendency  to  dis 
ease,  and  less  recuperative  power  when  a  person  is  once 
attacked. 

In  this  population  of  from  six  to  eight  thousand  souls, 
one  finds  representatives  of  all  parts  of  the  United  States 
and  Europe.  Men  of  culture  and  education  are  plenty, 
yet  not  always  to  be  distinguished  by  their  dress  or  ap 
pearance.  Society  is  still  agreeably  free  and  unconven 
tional.  People  are  so  crowded  together,  live  in  so  primi 
tive  a  fashion  for  the  most  part,  and  are,  perhaps  (many 
of  them),  so  glad  to  escape  from  restraint,  that  they  are 
more  natural,  and  hence  more  interesting  than  in  the  older 
States.  Owing  to  the  latter  cause,  no  doubt,  it  is  some 
times  difficult  to  recognize  the  staid  New  Englander  in  the 
sunburnt  individual  in  sombrero  and  riding-boots,  who 
smokes  his  pipe,  carries  his  pocket-flask,  and  tells  any 
amount  of  rollicking  stories.  He  has  simply  cast  off  his 
assumed  shell  and  is  himself;  and  I  must  confess  I  like 
him  all  the  better. 

Last  Saturday  night,  at  Black  Hawk,  at  the  close  of  a 
lecture  in  the  pretty  church  already  mentioned,  a  gentle 
man  came  to  me  and  said  :  "  It  was  a  long  way  from  here 
where  we  last  met."  He  had  a  familiar  face,  but  I  could 
not  at  once  detach  it  from  the  tens  of  thousands  in  my 
memory.  "Do  you  remember,"  he  asked,  "riding  into 
Kautokeino,  in '  Lapland,  one  cold  winter  night,  in  a  rein 
deer  sled  ?  "  "  It  is  impossible  ! "  I  exclaimed,  recognizing 
Herr  Bergcr,  the  Norwegian  merchant,  who  took  me  into 
his  house  in  that  Arctic  solitude,  after  twenty  hours  of 


CENTRAL  CITY  AND  BLACK  HAWK.  59 

frozen  travel  among  the  wastes  of  snow  !  It  was  he  him 
self,  come  all  the  way  from  Hammerfest,  in  latitude  71°, 
to  be,  first  a  soldier  in  the  Union  Army,  and  now  a  miner 
in  Colorado !  He  visited  me  yesterday,  and  we  had  a  long 
talk  about  old  times  and  mutual  friends  inside  of  the  Arc 
tic  Circle.  In  three  years  he  had  lost  every  characteristic 
of  the  hyperborean,  except  an  intense  longing  for  the  per 
petual  daylight  of  the  Arctic  summer. 

The  day  before,  I  was  suddenly  accosted  by  a  fellow- 
voyager  from  China  to  New  York,  via  St.  Helena ;  who, 
after  enduring  the  horrors  of  Southern  prisons,  has  come 
here  to  recruit  as  a  mountaineer. 

Perhaps  the  "  thin  air  and  alkali  water "  may  account 
for  the  rage  for  owning  "  claims  "  and  "  lodes,"  which  seems 
to  possess  all  classes  of  the  community.  Every  man  you 
meet  has  his  pocket  full  of  "  specimens."  When  you  are 
introduced  to  a  stranger  he  produces  a  piece  of  "  blossom 
rock,"  a  "  sulphuret,"  or  a  "  chloride."  The  landlord  of  the 
hotel  where  you  stop  confidentially  informs  you  that  he 
owns  25,000  feet  —  "the  richest  lode  in  the  country  — 
assays  $1300  to  the  cord,  sir ! "  The  clerk  is  the  happy 
possessor  of  10,000  feet;  the  porter  (where  there  is  any) 
has  at  least  5000  ;  while  the  chambermaid  boasts  of  her 
own  "  Susanna  Lode  "  or  "  Bridget  Lode."  The  baker  has 
specimens  beside  his  bread ;  the  dispenser  of  lager  beer 
looks  important  and  mysterious ;  the  druggist  is  apt  to 
give  you  "  chlorides  "  instead  of  aperients  ;  and  the  lawyer, 
who  takes  his  fees  in  "  feet "  (money  being  scarce),  dreams 
of  realizing  millions  after  the  Pacific  Railroad  reaches 
Denver. 

I  have  disgusted  several  individuals  by  refusing  to  buy, 
but  the  jargon  has  already  infected  my  speech,  and,  after 
hearing  a  man  at  the  table  ask,  —  "  Is  there  a  pay-streak 
in  that  bacon  ?  "  I  found  myself  on  the  point  of  asking  the 
waiter  to  put  a  little  more  sulphuret  in  my  coffee.  The 
same  waiter  afterward  said  to  me  :  "  Pie 's  played  out,  sir ! " 
If  I  had  then  requested  him  to  "  corral  the  tailings,"  he 


60  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

would  have  brought  me  the  fragments  from   the   other 
plates. 

The  Colorado  dialect,  in  other  respects,  is  peculiar.  A 
dwelling-house  is  invariably  styled  "  shebang ; "  and  the 
word,  in  many  cases,  is  very  appropriate.  The  Spanish 
corral  (always  mispronounced  corrett)  has  become  com 
pletely  naturalized,  and  is  used  as  a  verb,  meaning  to  catch 
or  collect.  A  supply  of  any  kind  is  an  "  outfit ;  "  a  man 
does  not  shout,  but  "  lets  a  yell  out  of  him  ;  "  and  one  who 
makes  a  blunder  "  cuts  open  a  dog."  I  cannot  recall,  at 
this  moment,  half  the  peculiarities  of  the  dialect,  but  I  am 
learning  them  as  fast  as  possible,  in  order  to  conform  to 
the  ways  of  the  country. 

Some  friends  took  me  over  the  hill  to  Quartz  Gulch,  the 
other  day,  in  order  to  try  some  mountain-brewed  ale.  Af 
ter  the  intense  still  heat  of  the  air  the  beverage  was  very 
refreshing,  and  greatly  superior  in  its  quality  to  the  lager 
beer  of  the  mountains.  The  owner  of  the  brewery  lives  in 
a  neat  log-cabin,  the  steps  whereto  are  ores  of  gold  and 
silver,  and  inside  the  rough  walls  an  accomplished  lady  sat 
down  to  her  piano  and  played  for  us  some  choice  compo 
sitions. 

There  is  also  a  theatre  here,  with  performances  every 
night.  Mr.  Waldron,  of  California,  takes  the  leading  tragic 
and  melodramatic  parts,  while  Mr.  Langrish,  the  manager, 
is  himself  a  very  admirable  comedian.  A  good  deal  of 
swearing  is  introduced  into  the  farces,  to  please  the  miners. 
I  went  in  one  evening  and  found  the  house  crowded. 
There  is  a  daily  paper  here,  and  one  in  Black  Hawk,  both 
well  supported,  I  believe  —  certainly  very  well  printed. 
The  editorial  dialect,  to  meet  the  tastes  of  the  people,  is 
of  an  exceedingly  free-and-easy  character.  A  collection  of 
very  curious  specimens,  both  of  approbation  and  attack, 
might  easily  be  made ;  but  I  am  too  fatigued  by  the  thin 
air  to  make  the  attempt  to-night. 

I  must  also  postpone  an  account  of  mining  operations 
and  interests  until  to-morrow. 


IX. 

MINING  AND   MINING   PROCESSES. 

CENTRAL  CITY,  COLORADO,  June  26, 1866. 

ALTHOUGH  I  have  come  to  Colorado  to  look  at  scenery 
rather  than  at  gold  and  silver  mines,  it  is  impossible  to  re 
main  in  the  centre  of  mining  operations  without  feeling  a 
desire  to  learn  something  concerning  their  character  and 
prospects.  Indeed  it  is  quite  necessary  to  acquire  some 
general  knowledge  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  ores  and  the 
technical  terms  describing  them,  in  order  both  to  under 
stand  three  fourths  of  the  conversation  one  hears,  and  to 
avoid  the  enthusiastic  explanations  which  would  be  imme 
diately  proffered  if  one  should  confess  entire  ignorance. 
One  would  soon  "  cap  out,"  or  "  peter  out,"  socially,  if  he 
did  not  yield  so  much  to  this  community. 

The  region  hereabout  first  drew  miners,  and  afterward 
capitalists,  from  the  rich  discoveries  made  by  Gregory,  in 
the  spring  of  1859,  and  from  its  greater  proximity  to  Den 
ver.  It  is  but  one  of  a  long  chain  of  gold-bearing  districts, 
many  of  which  are  still  but  half  explored.  Many  more, 
no  doubt,  are  yet  undiscovered.  Here,  however,  the  most 
has  been  done  in  the  way  of  development,  and  we  can  there 
fore  better  judge  what  dependence  can  be  placed  on  the 
promise  of  the  precious  minerals.  The  deserted  mills,  the 
idle  wheels,  and  the  empty  shafts  and  drifts  for  miles  along 
this  and  the  adjoining  ravines  —  the  general  decrease  of 
population  everywhere  in  the  mountains  —  indicate  a  pe 
riod  of  doubt  and  transition,  which  is  now,  I  believe,  on  the 
point  of  passing  away.  Colorado  has  been,  alternately,  the 


62  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

scene  of  exorbitant  hopes  and  equally  extravagant 'disap 
pointments.  Out  of  these  violent  reactions  a  new  order 
of  things  is  gradually  being  evolved.  Great  mistakes  have 
been  made.  Ignorance  has  learned  (at  an  enormous  ex 
pense)  to  recognize  istelf.  A  terrible  deal  of  swindling 
has  been  perpetrated,  and  the  natural  result  is,  that  the 
country  now  has  a  worse  reputation  than  it  deserves,  in 
most  parts  of  the  Union.  As  I  do  not  own,  or  propose  to 
own,  one  foot  of  any  lode  in  the  Territory,  my  own  opin 
ions  on  the  subject  —  whatever  they  may  be  worth  —  will 
be  at  least  unprejudiced. 

In  the  first  place,  gold  is  found  here  under  very  differ 
ent  conditions  from  those  of  California.  "  Free  gold,"  as  it 
is  called  (native  or  virgin  gold),  is  much  less  abundant. 
Owing  to  the  conformation  of  the  mountains,  there  is  but 
a  limited  space  for  "  gulch  "  or  surface  washing,  and  the 
rush  of  miners  to  the  country  in  1859  and  '60  soon  ex 
hausted  the  best  of  these.  The  "  blossom-rock  "  (partially 
disintegrated  quartz,  with  the  gold  mostly  in  a  "free" 
state)  gradually  followed,  leaving  the  great  storehouse  of 
the  mountains  still  untouched,  but  containing  the  gold  in 
such  stubborn  and  difficult  combinations,  that  by  the  old 
processes  from  fifty  to  eighty  per  cent,  was  lost,  or,  as 
they  say  here,  "  went  down  the  creek."  Then  came  dis 
couragement,  despondency,  failure  of  experiments,  and  a 
general  collapse,  the  results  of  which  are  everywhere  ap 
parent.  Yet  new  lodes  were  all  the  time  being  discovered, 
and  each  succeeding  assay  showed  the  richness  of  the  min 
eral. 

As  a  general  rule  the  gold  is  found  in  combination  with 
copper,  and  the  silver  with  lead.  The  silver  ore,  in  fact,  is 
simply  a  very  rich  argentiferous  galena.  Some  mineralo 
gists  say  that  the  ores  are  copper  and  lead,  in  reality,  hold 
ing  the  nobler  'metals  in  combination.  It  is  immaterial 
which  name  we  give,  provided  the  latter  can  be  completely 
extracted  by  some  cheap  method.  This  is  now  the  problem 


MINING  AND  MINING  PROCESSES.  63 

which  is  vexing  Colorado  —  which  suspends  enterprise  and 
holds  back  emigration,  for  a  time.  Out  of  the  many  proc 
esses  proposed,  two  only  have  been  put  in  operation  — 
Keith's  and  Lyon's.  Mourner's  and  Kenyon's  have  not  yet 
been  actively  tested.  A  few  of  the  old  stamp-mills  are  still 
running,  and  those  companies  which  can  afford  to  mine 
their  ores  a  considerable  time  in  advance  of  crushing  them, 
will  still  make  a  profit  by  this  method.  The  yield  of  gold 
is  said  to  be  fully  doubled,  by  allowing  the  ore  to  be  exposed 
to  the  air  for  the  space  of  a  year.  Probably  two  thirds  of 
the  companies,  however,  are  waiting  the  result  of  experi 
ments. 

Another  cause  operates,  though  in  a  less  degree,  to  check 
enterprises  on  a  larger  scale.  Labor  is  scarce  and  very  dear. 
Mechanics  demand  from  six  to  ten  dollars,  and  the  com 
monest  miner  five  dollars  per  day.  Iron,  lime,  chemical  ma 
terials,  and  even  fuel,  are  also  very  expensive.  Moreover, 
nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  when  wheat  is  supplied 
at  three  cents  per  pound  instead  of  ten  (as  it  probably  will 
be  this  fall),  and  when  freight  from  the  East  is  reduced 
from  fifteen  to  six  cents  per  pound,  the  expense  of  mining 
and  separating  the  metals  will  be  less  than  one  half  of  what 
it  now  is.  For  this  good  time,  which  is  not  only  coming, 
but  is  actually  near  at  hand,  the  whole  mountain  popula 
tion  is  waiting. 

The  descent  into  a  mine  is  one  of  the  inevitable  things 
which  a  traveller  must  perform.  It  is  a  moist,  unpleasant 
business,  but  no  one  can  speak  authoritatively  of  "  capping 
out,"  "  wall  rock,"  "  flukin's,"  &c.,  who  has  not  been  down  and 
seen  the  articles  from  beginning  to  end.  Mr.  Hayes,  the 
Superintendent  of  the  "  Gregory  Consolidated,"  offered  to 
pilot  me  to  a  depth  of  three  hundred  feet,  which  I  consid 
ered  would  be  as  much  as  a  strict  sense  of  duty  could  exact. 
I  have  no  subterranean  tastes,  and  honestly  confess  that  I 
would  have  been  glad  of  any  valid  excuse  to  omit  the  de 
scent.  But  there  was  none :  so  I  repaired  to  the  engine- 


64  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

house  and  business  office,  high  up  the  steep  hill-side,  put 
on  stiff  brown  boots,  a  clayey  coat,  and  a  bespattered  slouch 
of  a  hat,  received  my  tallow  candle  with  a  sigh,  and  in 
spected  with  a  new  interest  the  photograph  of  Speaker 
Colfax  and  his  party,  taken  after  their  return  from  the 
realms  under  my  feet. 

The  steam-engine  was  undergoing  repairs,  and  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  feet  of  perpendicular  ladders,  beside  the 
pump-shaft,  furnished  the  only  means  of  descent.  Mr. 
Rule,  the  never-tired  Cornishman,  led  the  way ;  then  Mr. 
Hayes,  with  his  tallow  candle,  while  I,  with  mine,  brought 
up  the  rear.  Through  a  little  trap-door  we  passed  from 
the  blazing  noon  sunshine  into  a  square,  upright  box  of 
damp  darkness,  filled,  somewhere  far  below,  with  sounds 
of  dropping  and  trickling  water.  The  ladders  are  about 
sixteen  feet  in  length,  separated  by  narrow  platforms,  where 
we  can  now  and  then  take  breath.  On  one  side  is  the  well, 
with  its  iron  tubes,  vanishing  above  and  below.  I  cannot 
pretend  to  describe  the  operation  of  the  machinery,  and 
will  only  say  that  the  work  is  of  the  most  massive  and 
durable  character.  There  was  plenty  of  leisure  to  inspect 
it  before  we  reached  the  bottom. 

Having  accomplished  the  descent,  I  found  myself  in  a 
horizontal  drift,  which  followed  the  direction  of  the  lode, 
into  the  heart  of  the  mountain.  Moving  lights  in  the  dis 
tance,  and  the  sounds  of  pick  and  hammer,  guided  us  to  the 
further  end,  where  the  workmen  were  busy  tunnelling  into 
the  stubborn  rock  —  the  design  being  to  carry  the  drift  to 
the  limit  of  the  Company's  property.  A  new  drift,  seventy- 
five  feet  below  this,  has  been  started,  and  will  be  carried, 
horizontally,  to  the  same  point ;  after  which,  the  crevice 
will  be  worked  out  from  below  upward.  Its  width,  at  the 
depth  I  reached,  is  from  four  to  six  feet.  Contrary  to  the 
experience  of  other  mining  countries,  the  ore  becomes 
richer  as  you  descend,  though  at  the  same  time  more 
refractory. 


MINING  AND  MINING  PROCESSES.  65 

The  lodes,  in  this  region,  appear  to  be  nearly  vertical, 
and  are  so  much  alike  in  their  features  that  a  description 
of  one  will  answer  for  all.  The  vertical  crevice,  sunk  to 
an  unknown  depth  in  the  primitive  rock,  has  sides  more  or 
less  curved  or  waved,  so  that  one  side,  from  irregular  up 
heaval,  sometimes  overlaps  the  other :  the  granite,  or  gneiss, 
meets,  and  cuts  off  the  streak  of  ore.  This  is  called  "  cap 
ping  out."  The  first  discovery  thereof  occasioned  a  good 
deal  of  consternation.  It  was  supposed  that  the  lode  was 
at  an  end,  and  that,  in  all  probability,  the  Rocky  Mountains 
were  only  rich  on  the  surface.  Now,  however,  when  a  lode 
caps  out,  the  owner  strikes  through  the  isthmus  of  "  wall 
rock,"  certain  of  finding  his  "  pay  streak  "  below.  Some 
times  the  lode  is  only  "  pinched,"  not  entirely  cut  off.  Of 
course  the  crevices  vary  in  width  and  the  ores  in  richness, 
but  there  is  great  similarity  in  all  other  conditions. 

It  was  easy  to  track  the  glittering  presence  of  the  sul- 
phurets  and  pyrites  along  the  walls  of  the  drift.  When  a 
light  was  held  near  the  rock,  it  brought  out  sparkles  of 
golden,  scarlet,  pink,  and  bright  blue  lustre,  equal  to  any 
peacock  coal.  This  ore,  which  is  accounted  very  rich,  is 
found  in  large  masses,  and  it  required  a  vigorous  handling 
of  the  pick  to  get  off  a  few  specimens.  I  found  it  difficult 
to  obtain  any  clear  estimates  of  the  yield.  The  ore  is 
absurdly  measured  by  "  cords,"  —  an  ordinary  two-horse 
wagon-load  being  called  a  quarter  of  a  cord  —  and  one 
cord  may  represent  from  eight  to  twelve  tons.  Fifty  dol 
lars  a  ton  may  perhaps  represent  a  fair  average  yield  — 
but  this  is  a  guess  rather  than  a  calculation. 

Crossing  a  gulf  on  a  suspended  ladder,  we  climbed  into 
an  upper  drift,  communicating  with  a  part  of  the  crevice 
which  had  been  worked  down  from  above,  and  gave  us  a 
distant  glimpse  of  daylight.  Here  we  found  the  lode  again, 
and  could  make  some  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  ores 
packed  between  us  and  the  bottom  of  the  mine.  The  way 
in  which  the  lodes  are  cut  into  claims,  which  fall  into  the 
5 


66  COLORADO:   A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

hands  of  different  companies,  is  a  great  obstacle  to  the 
economical  working  of  them.  A  horizontal  drift,  from  the 
point  where  the  lode  strikes  the  bottom  of  Gregory  Gulch, 
would  be  a  self-acting  drain ;  but  the  Company,  since  it  does 
not  own  this  portion  of  the  lode,  is  driven  to  the  enormous 
expense  of  pumping  from  a  depth  of  nearly  four  hundred 
feet.  Moreover,  when  one  company  suspends  operations 
for  a  time,  4and  the  water  collects,  the  companies  above  it, 
on  the  same  lode,  are  unable  to  work.  These  are  some  of 
the  inevitable,  yet  very  unpractical,  features  which  still  be 
long  to  Colorado  mining. 

As  we  were  returning  to  the  lower  drift,  there  was  a 
sudden  smothered  bellowing  under  our  feet,  the  granite 
heart  of  the  mountain  trembled,  and  our  candles  were  ex 
tinguished  in  an  instant.  It  was  not  an  agreeable  sensation, 
especially  when  Mr.  Rule  informed  me  that  another  blast 
would  follow  the  first.  However,  the  darkness  and  uncer 
tainty  soon  came  to  an  end.  We  returned  to  the  foot  of 
the  ladder,  and,  after  a  climb  which,  in  that  thin  air,  was  a 
constant  collapse  to  the  lungs,  we  reached  the  daylight  in 
a  dripping,  muddy,  and  tallow-spotted  condition. 

Mr.  Hayes  was  kind  enough  to  accompany  me  to  the 
smelting-works  of  the  Company,  and  point  out  the  principal 
features  of  the  Lyons  process.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  give 
a  technical  description.  The  process,  I  believe,  is  imported 
from  Wales,  with  very  slight  modifications.  The  ores  are 
ground,  washed,  released  from  the  rock,  desulphurized  by 
heat,  smelted,  the  gold  and  silver  separated  from  the  lead 
and  copper,  and  finally  delivered  in  cakes  which  contain 
about  seventy-five  per  cent,  in  weight,  of  silver,  and  some 
eighty  per  cent,  in  value,  of  gold.  The  lead  and  copper 
are  not  saved,  except  so  much  of  the  former  as  is  used  in 
smelting,  in  the  form  of  litharge. 

I  believe  this  is  the  only  process,  at  present,  in  operation, 
which  saves  the  silver.  Whether  the  amount  gained  thereby 
is  sufficient  to  balance  the  greater  expense  of  reducing  the 


MINING  AND  MINING  PROCESSES.  67 

ores,  I  cannot  say.  Professor  Hill,  who  has  just  returned 
from  Swansea,  in  company  with  Mr.  Hermann,  of  the  firm 
of  Vivian  &  Co.,  brings  a  proposal,  I  am  told,  to  send  "  mats  " 
of  the  metals,  unseparated,  to  Wales,  the  value  of  the  cop 
per  alone  being  enough  to  pay  the  cost  of  transportation 
and  smelting.  Mr.  Hermann  considers  the  ores  immensely 
rich,  and  has  commenced  a  series  of  assays,  the  result  of 
which,  I  presume,  will  not  be  immediately  made  public. 

The  only  objection  I  have  heard  urged  against  the  Lyons 
process  is  its  expensive  character.  In  other  respects  it 
must  be  satisfactory,  since  the  Company  is  now  buying  the 
"  tailings  "  of  the  stamp-mills,  at  the  rate  of  fifty  dollars  per 
cord,  for  the  purpose  of  smelting.  Statements  on  either 
side  must  be  received  with  a  certain  amount  of  allowance, 
and  many  communications  are  made  to  me  which  I  forbear 
repeating.  I  can  only  say  that  the  energy  and  activity  dis 
played  by  the  Lyons  Company  indicate  success. 

Mr.  Lathrop  took  me  to-day  to  Keith's  Mill,  which  is  in 
the  Clear  Creek  Valley,  about  a  mile  from  Black  Hawk. 
The  process  here  is  very  simple.  The  ore,  after  being 
ground,  is  placed  in  hollow  cylinders,  where  a  number  of 
small  iron  balls  reduce  it  to  powder.  After  being  desul 
phurized  by  heat,  it  is  placed  in  the  cylinders  and  pulver 
ized  a  second  time.  Finally,  the  usual  treatment,  by  water 
and  quicksilver,  is  employed  to  take  up  the  gold  alone,  sil 
ver,  lead,  and  copper  being  lost.  Mr.  Keith  claims  that  by 
the  process  he  obtains  one  hundred  per  cent,  more  than 
the  stamp-mills  —  probably  eighty  to  eighty-five  per  cent, 
of  the  whole  amount  of  gold.  The  advantage  of  his  method 
is  its  cheapness.  The  handling  of  the  material,  from  first 
to  last,  is  done  by  machinery,  and  the  different  stages  of 
the  process  are  so  conveniently  connected  that  four  men 
can  reduce  two  cords  of  ore  daily.  Mr.  Keith  seems  to 
have  great  faith  in  the  success  of  his  method,  which  is  cer 
tainly  destined  to  supersede  the  stamp-mills.  The  loss  of 


68  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

the  silver,  however,  strikes  me  as  an  objection  to  its  use  in 
many  parts  of  Colorado. 

The  stamp-mill  of  the  Black  Hawk  Company  is  still  at 
work,  pounding  out  the  less  refractory  ores  from  the  Bob 
tail  Lode.  It  is  a  model  mill  of  the  kind,  admirable  in  its 
arrangement,  thoroughly  regulated,  and  with  a  refreshing 
air  of  permanence  in  all  its  departments.  I  am  told  that 
its  average  production  is  two  hundred  and  twenty-five 
ounces  of  gold  per  week,  whereof  twenty-five  ounces  are 
profit.  I  suspect  this  is  only  a  guess. 

One  thing  is  certain :  the  mines  of  Colorado  are  among 
the  richest  in  the  world.  I  doubt  whether  either  California 
or  Nevada  contains  a  greater  amount  of  the  precious  metals 
than  this  section  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  These  peaks, 
packed  as  they  are  with  deep,  rich  veins  —  seamed  and 
striped  with  the  out-cropping  of  their  hidden  and  reluc 
tantly  granted  wealth  —  are  not  yet  half  explored.  They 
are  part  of  a  grand  deposit  of  treasure  which  will  eventu 
ally  be  found  to  extend  from  Guanajuato  and  Real  del 
Monte  to  the  Mackenzie  and  Coppermine  Rivers,  and 
which,  if  properly  worked,  will  yield  a  hundred  millions 
a  year  for  a  thousand  years !  Colorado,  alone,  ought  to 
furnish  the  amount  of  the  national  debt  within  the  next 
century.  The  gold  is  here,  and  the  silver,  the  copper,  and 
lead,  —  possibly,  platina  (there  are  already  rumors  of  it), — 
and  all  that  is  needed  is  invention,  intelligence,  and  prop 
erly  organized  enterprise. 

There  is  an  immense  number  of  fools  in  the  world,  and 
many  of  them  either  found  their  way  to  Colorado,  or  in 
vested  in  mythical  mines  of  fabulous  productiveness.  More 
than  the  usual  amount  of  folly  and  swindling  was  located 
here  for  a  time  —  hence  the  reaction,  the  effects  of  which 
are  still  felt 

Before  leaving  Central  City,  I  must  say  that  it  is  the 
most  outrageously  expensive  place  in  Colorado.  You  pay 


MINING  AND  MINING  PROCESSES.  69 

more  and  get  less  for  the  money  than  in  any  other  part  of 
the  world.  I  am  already  tired  of  these  bald,  clumsy  shaped, 
pock-marked  mountains ;  this  one  long,  windy,  dusty  street, 
with  its  perpetual  menace  of  fire ;  and  this  never-ending 
production  of  "  specimens  "  and  offer  of  "  feet,"  and  shall 
joyfully  say  good-by  to-morrow  morning. 


TO  IDAHO   AND   EMPIRE. 

EMPIRE,  FOOT  OF  THE  SNOWY  RANGE,  June  27, 1866. 

MY  friends  in  Central  City  will  not  take  offence  when  I 
say  that  I  left  —  not  them,  but  the  place  —  with  a  cheerful 
sense  of  relief.  I  had  been  for  four  days  jammed  down 
among  the  torn  and  barren  hills,  and  yearned  mightily  for 
a  freer  out-look  and  more  attractive  scenery.  As  the  stage 
left  the  narrow  ravine,  through  which  the  wind  draws  the 
dust  as  through  a  funnel,  and  climbed  around  the  steep 
toward  Russell's  Gulch,  the  air  seemed  to  become  at  once 
gentler  and  purer.  The  mountains,  though  still  for  the 
most  part  bare  or  gray,  with  burned  forests,  'swept  broadly 
into  the  distance  ;  and  between  their  gaps,  to  the  eastward, 
shimmered  the  hot  blink  of  the  Plains.  There  were  specks 
of  snow  near  their  summits,  but  the  dividing  range  to  the 
west  of  us  was  still  invisible. 

Russell's  Gulch,  from  top  to  bottom,  —  a  distance,  ap 
parently,  of  two  or  three  miles,  — •  and  all  its  branches,  show 
the  traces  of  gold-washing.  The  soil  has  been  turned  up 
side  down,  hollowed  out  and  burrowed  into,  in  every  direc 
tion.  Around  the  edges  of  this  desolation  stand  the  de 
serted  cabins  of  the  former  miners,  a  chance  one  still  oc 
cupied.  I  noticed,  here  and  there,  some  feeble  attempts  at 
gulch  mining,  but  the  large  new  mill  near  the  head  of  the 
glen  was  a  better  sign  of  enterprise.  The  stamp-mills,  all 
of  primitive  pattern,  were  mostly  idle ;  yet  every  vein  in 
this  region  is  covered  by  claims,  and  the  specimens  they 
show  are  of  great  richness.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  owners 
are  waiting  for  the  new  process. 


TO  IDAHO  AND  EMPIRE.  71 

Our  road  led  southward,  across  several  shoulders  or 
undulations  of  the  range,  gradually  ascending,  until  we 
reached  the  divide  between  the  waters  of  North  and  South 
Clear  Creeks,  at  an  elevation  of  more  than  nine  thousand 
feet.  Two  or  three  peaks  of  dazzling  snow  came  in  sight, 
apparently  very  near  us,  so  sharply  were  they  relieved 
against  the  hard,  dark  blue  of  the  sky.  Segments  of  the 
Plains  —  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the  sea  —  ap 
peared  to  the  eastward ;  while  directly  in  front  of  us  rose 
the  three  picturesque  summits,  which  have  been  named  the 
Chief,  the  Pappoose,  and  the  Squaw.  The  first  of  these 
reaches  a  height  of  more  than  twelve  thousand  feet,  its 
bare  pyramidal  summit  shooting  far  above  the  timber  line. 
It  has  several  times  been  ascended. 

The  height  from  which  one  looks  upon  these  mountains 
greatly  lessens  their  apparent  altitude,  and  thus  diminishes 
the  effect  of  the  scenery.  When  you  have  penetrated  so 
far  within  the  Rocky  Mountains  that  all  view  of  the  great 
Plains  is  shut  out,  you  naturally  measure  the  elevation  of 
the  ranges  from  the  beds  of  the  valleys.  But  these  beds 
rise  very  rapidly  as  you  advance,  and  you  are  constantly 
brought  nearer  the  line  where  forests  cease  and  snow  be 
gins.  The  thin  air  and  deeper  color  of  the  sky  indicate  the 
level  you  have  reached,  but  the  mountains  seem  no  higher 
than  before. 

After  crossing  the  divide,  the  road  descends  to  South 
Clear  Creek,  through  a  long,  winding  glen.  I  here  noticed 
a  bush-maple,  a  variety  of  the  alder-tree,  and  great  quan 
tities  of  wild  currants  and  gooseberries.  Far  and  near,  all 
over  the  steep  sides  and  flanks  of  the  mountains,  were  the 
traces  of  prospecters.  In  some  places  "  blossom  rock  "  had 
been  found  and  abandoned,  probably  making  a  poor  assay ; 
in  others,  holes  had  been  quarried  to  the  depth  of  six  or 
eight  feet  without  any  perceptible  result.  In  the  narrowest 
part  of  the  glen,  however,  we  came  upon  a  pile  of  fresh 
ore,  which  showed  a  strong  "  color,"  and  was  said  to  yield 


72  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

from  two  hundred  to  one  thousand  dollars  per  ton.  One 
of  the  owners,  at  least,  was  very  enthusiastic,  and  it  was 
plainly  to  be  seen  that  the  vein  was  being  actively  worked. 

While  I  was  admiring  the  bold,  grand  outlines  of  the 
Chief,  which  became  more  and  more  striking  as  we  de 
scended,  the  glen  suddenly  opened,  and  we  found  ourselves 
in  the  valley  of  the  South  Clear.  "  Ah,  this  begins  to  be 
Alpine  !  "  I  exclaimed.  Here,  at  last,  there  was  a  little 
breadth  and  space,  —  a  floor  from  an  eighth  to  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  in  width,  bordered  by  mountains,  which  towered 
up,  up,  behind  their  huge  escarpments  of  rock,  into  the 
region  of  snow.  Here  the  ranges  were  more  detached,  al 
lowing  something  of  form  to  be  traced ;  the  forests  were 
not  all  burned  or  levelled ;  glimpses  of  green  meadows 
shone  down  from  the  higher  slopes ;  and  the  cold,  clear 
gtream,  fed  from  the  fields  of  melting  snow,  foamed  and 
flashed  in  the  sun. 

We  came  at  once  upon  a  straggling  yillage  of  log-huts, 
which,  after  having  outlived  a  variety  of  names,  is  now 
called  "  Idaho,"  —  the  inhabitants  fondly  supposing  that 
this  word  means  "  the  gem  of  the  mountains."  [I  need 
hardly  say  that  the  Indians  have  no  such  phrase.  Idaho 
is  believed  to  mean  "  rocks."]  I  here  left  the  stage,  Mr. 
Sisty  having  kindly  offered  to  take  me  on  to  Empire  in  the 
afternoon.  In  this  queer,  almost  aboriginal  village,  with 
its  charming  situation,  there  is  the  best  hotel  in  Colorado. 
It  has  just  been  completed  ;  the  opening  ball  occurred  after 
I  reached  Central  City.  The  Astonished  stranger  here 
finds  a  parlor  with  carpets  as  showy,  horse-hair  sofas  as 
shiny  and  slippery,  looking-glasses  with  as  much  gilding, 
tables  as  marbled-topped,  and  everything  else  as  radiant 
with  varnish  or  gypsum,  as  the  laws  of  American  taste  in 
such  things  could  require.  The  bedrooms  are  so  fresh  — 
so  unsuggestive  of  a  thousand  unwashed  previous  occu 
pants  —  that  I  regretted  not  being  able  to  enjoy  the  luxury 
for  one  night. 


TO  IDAHO  AND  EMPIRE.  73 

While  I  was  preparing  to  accompany  Mr.  Sisty  to  the 
soda  springs  of  Idaho,  I  was  accosted  by  an  old  Norwegian, 
a  native  of  Drammen.  The  kindly  feeling  which  all  Scan 
dinavians  have  for  any  one  who  has  ever  visited  their 
country  is  remarkable.  In  Kansas,  I  bought  a  pair  of 
blankets  from  a  Swede,  who  instantly  abated  one  dollar  of 
the  price,  when  I  addressed  him  in  his  native  tongue.  Al 
though  my  Norsk  is  very  halting,  from  long  disuse,  the 
old  fellow  borrowed  a  fishing-rod,  and  in  an  hour  presented 
me  with  seven  mountain-trout  for  my  dinner.  And  such 
trout !  Admirable  as  was  the  hotel-dinner,  over  which 
Mrs.  Beebe  presided,  I  was  obliged  to  slight  it  for  the 
special  dish  she  prepared  and  placed  before  me.  I  hope 
to  fall  in  with  many  more  Norwegians  before  I  leave  the 
mountains. 

The  soda  springs  are  already  turned  to  service.  Two 
bath-houses  have  been  built  for  summer  guests.  In  one 
of  these  the  water  js  so  regulated,  that  the  bather  may 
choose  whatever  temperature  he  prefers,  the  hot  spring 
being  about  ninety-five  degrees  as  it  issues  from  the  earth. 
It  has  a  deliciously  refreshing  and  exhilarating  quality,  as 
I  founcl  after  taking  it  warm.  The  taste  resembles  a  weak 
and  rather  flat  citrate  of  magnesia ;  but,  as  the  water  has 
not  yet  been  analyzed,  I  cannot  give  the  ingredients.  The 
hot  and  cold  springs  come  up  so  close  together,  that  one 
may  dip  a  hand  in  either  at  the  same  time. 

But  neither  these  springs  nor  the  gold  mines  comprise 
all  the  riches  of  Idaho.  Further  down  the  valley,  some 
where,  there  is  a  vein  of  rough  opal  eighteen  inches  thick. 
I  have  a  piece  of  it  in  my  pocket  at  this  moment,  and  it  is 
undoubtedly  opal,  though  of  faint,  imperfect  fire,  as  if  its 
quality  were  faded  by  long  exposure  to  the  weather.  Small 
specimens  of  a  similar  variety,  from  Montana,  are  frequent 
in  Colorado  ;  but  I  have  seen  nothing  yet  with  the  infinite 
sparkle  of  the  Hungarian  or  the  prismatic  lustre  of  the 
Honduras  opal.  It  is  unreasonable,  however,  to  ask  for 


74  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

the  precious  gems,  where  so  much  other  wealth  has  been 
given. 

After  dinner,  Mr.  Sisty  produced  a  buggy  and  a  pair  of 
fast  horses,  and  we  set  out  up  the  valley.  The  road  was 
smooth,  as  if  macadamized  ;  the  cold,  pale-green  creek 
roared  beside  us,  sweeping  around  pine-clad  capes  or  un 
der  the  shadow  of  mighty  cliffs,  and  the  snows  of  the 
higher  summits  brightened  in  the  sunshine.  This  was  in 
spiring  travel,  reminding  me  (dimly,  I  must  confess)  of 
the  Upper  Valley  of  the  Rhine,  between  Splugen  and  the 
Via  Mala.  After  two  or  three  miles  the  valley  contracted, 
becoming  a  mere  canon,  walled  in  by  overhanging  preci 
pices  ;  a  stream,  which  we  crossed  on  a  toll-bridge,  came 
down  through  a  gorge  on  the  right.  Beyond  the  bridge 
there  was  a  hotel,  commanding  a  view  of  the  wonderful 
"  Notch."  I  noticed  that  one  of  the  upper  windows  of  this 
hotel  had  been  removed ;  then  I  saw  the  end  of  a  mahl- 
stick  moving  about  in  the  open  place ;  then  a  mass  of 
flowing  locks,  an  easel,  and  an  absorbed  countenance.  It 
was  Mr.  Beard,  working  with  might  and  main  to  catch  the 
lovely,  fleeting  effects  of  light  and  shade  on  the  rocks  and 
pines.  On  the  veranda  below  sat  General  Pierce,  his  com 
panion,  more  patient  than  Science  usually  is,  when  it  must 
wait  for  Art. 

We  halted  an  hour,  and  I  made  a  wretched  attempt  at  a 
sketch  of  the  place.  You  cannot  cram  this  scenery  into 
the  compass  of  a  block-book ;  it  requires  a  large  canvas, 
and  the  boldest  and  broadest  handling.  The  eye  is  con 
tinually  cheated,  the  actual  being  so  much  more  than  the 
apparent  dimensions  of  all  objects.  Though  so  familiar 
with  the  effect  of  extraordinarily  pure,  thin  air,  and  great 
clearness  of  outline,  I  am  still  frequently  at  fault.  What 
one  sees  small,  is  always  small  in  the  drawing.  Even  pho 
tographs  here  have  the  same  dwarfed,  diminished  expres 
sion.  I  can  now  see  how  naturally  Bierstadt  was  led  to  a 
large  canvas. 


TO  IDAHO  AND  EMPIRE.  75 

Leaving  the  artist  at  his  work,  we  drove  through  the 
gorge  into  another  open  stretch  of  the  valley.  Westward, 
directly  in  front,  a  peak  of  the  central  snowy  range  tow 
ered  over  all '  the  intermediate  heights ;  while  on  the  left 
Mount  Douglas,  throwing  its  own  shadow  over  a  thousand 
feet  of  vertical  precipice,  guarded  the  entrance  to  George 
town  Valley.  Three  or  four  miles  up  this  valley  lies  the 
little  village  of  that  name,  with  promising  leads  and  lodes ; 
while  beyond  it,  among  the  snowy  tangle  of  mountains  at 
the  southeastern  corner  of  the  Middle  Park,  is  the  famous 
silver  district,  recently  discovered,  and  now  known  by  the 
name  of  "  Argentine."  The  mineral  is  there  said  to  be  of 
fabulous  richness,  but  more  than  ten  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea.  Assays,  I  am  informed,  give  between  three  and 
four  thousand  dollars  to  the  ton. 

In  ascending  the  South  Clear,  the  rise  averages  about 
one  hundred  feet  to  the  mile,  and  the  estimated  elevation 
of  Empire  is  nine  thousand  feet.  Take  the  altitude  of  the 
Catskill  Mountain  House  above  the  Hudson,  and  place 
that  on  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  and  you  will  have 
the  elevation  of  this  place,  where  people  live,  work,  and 
carry  on  business  ;  where,  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  cattle 
have  excellent  pasture,  and  potatoes  are  raised  !  More 
than  this,  the  little  mining  village  of  North  Empire,  a  mile 
from  this  place,  is  one  thousand  four  hundred  feet  higher ; 
yet  even  there  the  inhabitants  pass  the  winter  with  less 
discomfort  than  one  would  suppose.  On  the  table-lands 
of  the  Andes,  under  the  equator,  we  find  towns  at  an  equal 
height,  but  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  Among  the  Alps, 
at  an  elevation  of  nine  thousand  feet,  there  is  not  a  blade 
of  grass  ;  even  moss  and  lichens  disappear. 

Empire  enjoys  a  very  picturesque  situation.  The  pop 
ulation  may  possibly  be  three  hundred;  the  houses  are 
mostly  cabins  of  hewn  logs,  but  their  inhabitants  are  men 
of  intelligence  and  enterprise.  On  reaching  the  White 
House  (kept  by  Mr.  White),  I  found  Mr.  Byers,  editor  of 


76  COLORADO  :   A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

"  The  Rocky  Mountain  News,"  who  is  to  be  our  pilot  and 
companion  through  the  Parks.  Mr.  Beard  has  since 
arrived,  and  the  other  two  gentlemen  of  our  party  (Messrs. 
M'Candless  and  Davis,  of  Pittsburg)  were  already  await 
ing  us.  Here,  therefore,  we  shall  take  leave  of  such  civil 
ization  as  gold-mining  carries  with  it,  and  strike  into  the 
wilder  regions  beyond.  Our  preparations  are  few  and 
easily  made.  The  horses  and  mules,  belonging  to  Charley 
Utter,  the  famous  trapper  and  trader  of  the  Middle  Park, 
will  be  in  charge  of  Mr.  White's  son.  Mr.  Byers  has 
superintended  the  laying  in  of  supplies  (consisting  chiefly 
of  biscuit,  fat  pork,  ham,  coffee,  and  sugar),  and  our  blank 
ets  and  overcoats  will  furnish  the  necessary  bedding. 
Luxuries  we  discard  —  except,  in  my  single  case,  a  few 
cigars  of  doubtful  quality.  No  cases  of  bottles,  or  boxes 
of  tin  cans,  accompany  us ;  we  have  no  forks,  nor  plates, 
but  one  tin  cup  apiece,  and  a  single  spoon  for  the  whole 
company.  The  culinary  utensils  consist  of  a  frying-pan 
and  a  coffee-pot.  To  be  sure,  we  have  visions  of  moun 
tain-trout,  and  of  elk-steak,  broiled  on  skewers ;  but  these 
may  be  fairly  permitted,  without  branding  us  as  epicu 
reans.  The  whole  outfit  is  of  the  Robinson  Crusoe  char 
acter,  and  necessarily  so,  for  pack  animals  must  be  lightly 
burdened  on  the  trails  which  we  are  to  follow. 

1  have  just  been  lecturing  in  the  Methodist  church 

(the  same  in  which  the  Colorado  Conference  has  been  held 
this  week)  to  an  audience  of  more  than  a  hundred  persons. 
The  effect  of  speaking,  at  an  altitude  of  nine  thousand  feet, 
is  not  attended  with  the  fatigue  which  I  had  anticipated 
during  the  act ;  but  it  is  followed  by  a  sense  of  complete 
exhaustion.  The  audience,  for  calm,  steady  attention, 
might  have  belonged  to  New  York  or  New  England.  No 
one  went  out  for  a  drink,  as  is  the  custom  in  the  mining 
communities  of  California.  I  missed  —  and  to  my  regret 
• —  a  type  of  face  which  I  have  found  in  every  Colorado 
audience,  until  this  evening.  In  fact,  I  came  to  look  for 


TO  IDAHO  AND  EMPIRE.  77 

the  face  naturally ;  it  struck  my  fancy  in  Denver,  the  first 
evening,  and  I  found  it,  slightly  varied,  for  eight  nights  in 
succession.  It  represents  a  type  unique  among  civilized 
races,  and  only  to  be  found  (and  that  only  of  late  years)  in 
the  United  States  —  a  type  expressing  the  precise  point 
where  the  elements  of  the  rowdy  begin  to  disappear,  and 
those  of  the  gentleman  manifest  themselves.  The  square 
of  the  face  rounds  into  the  oval ;  the  forehead  is  good,  the 
eyebrows  straight  and  dark,  the  hair  generally  dark  also ; 
the  eye  is  remarkably  beautiful ;  the  nose  would  be  good, 
but  for  the  least  bit  of  tendency  to  turn  up  at  the  end ; 
there  is  generally  a  mustache,  full  yet  firm  lips,  a  strong, 
manly  chin,  and  (here  the  rowdy  mark  remains  !)  a  square 
animal  jaw.  The  face  expresses  a  fine  and  noble  quality 
of  manhood,  not  yet  wholly  detached  from  a  coarse,  rude 
basis.  This  type  so  interested  me,  that  I  found  myself  in 
voluntarily  singling  out  the  best  specimen  and  addressing 
myself  specially  to  him  —  and  always  with  a  sense  that  it 
was  right  to  do  so.  I  should  be  glad  to  think  that  this 
face  represents  a  general  fact 


XL 

CROSSING   THE   BERTHOUD   PASS. 

CAMP  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK,  June  29,  1866. 

OUR  plans  for  the  mountain  journey  had  been  fixed 
before  leaving  Denver,  and  we  adhered  to  them  in  spite 
of  warnings  and  persuasions.  Mr.  Byers  is  an  accom 
plished  mountaineer,  to  whom  much  of  the  ground  is  fa 
miliar,  and  I  preferred  taking  his  advice  to  that  of  others 
who  spoke  from  hearsay  rather  than  experience.  It  would 
be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  cross  Berthoud  Pass, 
many  persons  asserted ;  the  hardships  of  Colonel  Babcock's 
party,  a  fortnight  ago,  were  constantly  cited,  and  the  spec 
tres  of  risk  and  danger,  which  those  who  stay  at  home  de 
light  to  evoke  for  those  who  travel,  accompanied  us  up 
to  the  very  moment  of  starting. 

At  Empire,  however,  the  people  contented  themselves 
with  predicting  that  we  could  not  get  over  the  Pass  in  a 
day ;  and,  indeed,  there  seemed  a  strong  probability  that 
they  were  right.  White  set  out  at  daybreak  to  corral  the 
horses  and  mules ;  we  also  rose  early,  washed  our  faces  in 
the  frosty  air,  in  the  midst  of  a  panorama  of  rose-tinted 
Alps,  took  an  early  "  square  "  breakfast,  and  tied  our  equip 
ments  in  comfortable  parcels  for  packing.  But  the  ani 
mals,  well  suspecting  what  was  before  them,  refused  to  be 
corralled.  First  one  assistant,  then  another,  was  dispatched, 
until  five  persons  were  busy,  and  nine  o'clock  had  arrived 
before  there  was  any  prospect  of  our  departure.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  landlord  produced  a  boiled  ham,  and  a  tin 
kettle  full  of  hot  biscuit,  which  we  put  into  a  coffee-bag. 


CROSSING  THE  BERTHOUD  PASS.  79 

"  They  might  ha'  been  sadder,"  said  he,  speaking  of  the 
biscuit ;  "  they  pack  better  when  they  're  sad." 

General  Pierce  had  set  out  on  his  return  to  Denver,  tak 
ing  with  him  our  "  biled  shirts  and  store  clothes."  We  were 
attired  in  flannel,  and  becomingly  rough,  each  with  the 
handle  of  a  tin  cup  hooked  into  the  button-hole  of  his  coat, 
his  trousers  tucked  into  huge  riding-boots,  spur  on  heel, 
and  buckskin  gloves  on  hand.  By  this  time  White  had 
arrived  with  the  animals,  —  two  cute  little  pack-mules,  a 
lean  dun  mare  for  myself,  and  a  large  brown  mule  for  Mr. 
Beard.  The  other  gentlemen  had  their  own  beasts.  The 
packing,  strapping,  and  other  final  preparations  were  done 
hastily,  and  by  ten  o'clock  we  were  in  the  saddle.  "  You  '11 
camp  on  this  side  of  the  Pass  to-night,"  said  Judge  Cowles ; 
and  so  we  rode  out  of  Empire. 

I  wish  we  had  a  word  in  the  English  language  corre 
sponding  to  the  German  "  reiselust "  —  because  that  word, 
and  none  other,  expresses  the  feeling  with  which  one  sets 
out  on  a  journey,  in  the  pure  upper  air  of  a  mountain 
region.  The  blood  circulates  with  nimble  alacrity;  the 
lungs  expand  with  a  tingling  sense  of  delight ;  all  sights 
and  sounds  of  Nature  have  a  character  of  cheer  and  en 
couragement  ;  life  is  a  most  agreeable  condition,  and  one's 
fellow-men  are  good  fellows,  every  one  of  them. 

It  was  a  superb  day.  The  wind  blew  down  from  the 
snow-fields,  tempering  the  heat  of  a  dazzling  sun  in  a 
cloudless  sky.  The  village  behind  us  showed  between 
groups  of  tall,  dark  fir-trees ;  the  creek,  dammed  for  a 
stamp-mill,  spread  out  a  bright  lake  in  the  lap  of  the  valley  ; 
and  southward  the  sharp  summit  of  Montgomery  Peak  rose 
high  above  all  the  surrounding  mountains.  We  had  still  a 
good  wagon-road,  with  rough  bridges  across  the  torrents 
which  came  down  from  every  rocky  glen.  The  pack-mules 
maliciously  strayed  hither  and  thither,  shaking  out  of  bal 
ance  their  hastily  arranged  loads,  and  sometimes  even  hid 
ing  behind  the  trees  in  the  hope  of  escaping  their  destiny. 


80  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

The  valley  gradually  narrowed,  and  we  entered  a  defile 
far  grander  than  anything  I  had  yet  seen  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  On  either  side  enormous  masses  of  dark-red 
rock  towered  over  our  heads  to  the  height  of  fifteen  hun 
dred  feet,  so  torn  and  split-  into  colossal  towers,  walls,  and 
buttresses,  that  every  minute  presented  a  new  combination 
of  forms.  The  bed  of  the  glen  was  filled  with  huge  frag 
ments/ tumbled  from  above.  Even  here,  high  up  on  al 
most  inaccessible  points,  the  prospectors  had  left  their 
traces,  lured  by  the  indications  of  ore  in  cliffs  above,  to 
which  they  dare  not  climb.  Our  necks  ached  with  gazing 
at  the  sharp  sky-piercing  summits,  in  the  hope  of  detecting 
mountain  sheep ;  but  none  were  to  be  seen. 

We  forded  the  South  Clear,  which,  swollen  by  the  melt 
ing  snows,  reached  to  the  horses'  bellies,  and  was  so  swift 
that  they  could  scarcely  keep  their  footing.  The  road  then 
entered  a  forest  of  fir  and  pine,  over  the  tops  of  which  we 
now  and  then  caught  the  glimmer  of  snowy  summits.  But 
the  new  and  beautiful  flora  of  the  mountains  kept  my  gaze 
to  the  earth.  Both  new  flowers  and  new  varieties  of  fa 
miliar  families  made  their  appearance.  A  lovely  species 
of  the  columbine  (aquilegia),  large  and  white,  the  horns 
and  external  petals  of  a  pale  violet,  would  be  a  great  orna 
ment  to  our  gardens.  There,  were  also  several  handsome 
varieties  of  sedum  and  saxifrage,  the  flame-colored  euchro- 
ma,  and  an  unknown  spicy  flower  of  the  purest  turquoise 
blue.  The  mahonia,  here  called  the  "  Oregon  grape,"  is 
very  abundant  in  the  forests.  I  have  found  it  in  all  parts 
of  the  mountains  which  I  have  yet  visited. 

Beyond  the  rocky  gorge  which  I  have  described,  the 
valley  opens  again,  revealing  its  head,  inclosed  by  a  semi 
circular  sweep  of  the  snowy  range.  As  this  is  one  of  the 
points  suggested  for  the  passage  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 
by  the  Pacific  Railroad,  we  took  careful  note  of  its  confor 
mation,  and  the  facilities  offered  for  overcoming  the  alti 
tude  of  the  range.  The  average  fall  of  Clear  Creek,  from 


CROSSING  THE  BERTHOUD  PASS.  81 

the  base  of  the  dividing  ridge  to  the  Plains  near  Denver, 
is  about  one  hundred  feet  per  mile,  and  there  is  no  diffi 
culty  in  building  a  road  through  that  part  of  the  valley 
which  I  traversed.  On  reaching  the  head  of  the  valley, 
three  passes  offer  themselves.  The  first  is  the  famous 
Berthoud  Pass,  on  the  right,  offering  a  way  into  the  Middle 
Park  through  a  depression  in  the  main  chain.  Five  miles 
further  is  the  Vasquez  Pass,  also  on  the  right  hand.  This, 
however,  is  rather  a  trail,  over  the  crest  of  the  mountain, 
than  a  pass.  Some  four  or  five  miles  further,  at  the  very 
head  of  the  valley,  is  a  new  pass,  recently  discovered  by 
Mr.  Jones,  who  is  at  present  engaged  in  Constructing  a 
wagon-road  over  it  into  the  Park.  Both  the  latter  passes 
are  higher  than  the  Berthoud,  but  the  new  one  is  said  to 
offer  the  easiest  approaches.  It  has  not  yet  been  surveyed, 
and  may  prove  the  most  favorable  for  a  railroad. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Berthoud  Pass,  we  had  already  risen 
more  than  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  leaving  about 
two  thousand  feet  still  to  be  surmounted.  We  were  eight 
miles  from  Empire,  and  three  from  the  summit.  Our  pack- 
mules  were  forced,  with  great  difficulty,  to  leave  the  wagon- 
road,  and  take  the  narrow  trail  which  struck  directly  up 
the  steep  flank  of  the  mountain.  It  was,  indeed,  a  terrible 
pull  which  awaited  them.  We  had  not  made  a  hundred 
yards  before  our  horses  stopped,  almost  gasping  for  breath. 
I  could  feel  the  heart  of  my  lean  mare  knocking  rapidly 
against  her  ribs.  A  few  little  knobs  or  projections  from 
the  line  of  descent  favored  the  poor  beasts  for  awhile,  but 
it  was  not  long  before  these  ceased,  and  the  terrific  slant  of 
the  mountain  presented  itself  unrelieved,  to  be  overcome. 
The  trail  was  a  mere  mark  in  the  gravelly  soil,  where  a 
stone  loosed  by  the  foot  would  find  no  rest  until  it  reached 
the  level  of  the  valley.  The  angle  of  descent  was  in  some 
places  not  less  than  50°.  Here  there  were  few  trees,  and 
the  valley  yawned  under  us  like  an  enormous  green  basin, 
with  a  jagged  white  border. 


82  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

From  this  point  I  overlooked  the  course  of  Clear  Creek 
from  its  very  source.  The  main  valley  seemed  to  be  formed 
out  of  four  or  five  small  ones,  radiating  down  from  between 
the  buttresses  of  the  main  chain.  It  appeared  to  be  doubt 
ful  whether  a  railroad  could  obtain  a  sufficient  return  curve 
to  overcome  the  first  precipitous  part  of  the  Berthoud  Pass 
without  running  up  to  the  head  of  the  valley  on  the  oppo 
site  side  —  in  which  case,  each  of  these  lateral  valleys,  or 
rather  glens,  would  be  an  obstacle.  Still — judging  merely 
by  the  eye  —  the  difficulty  did  not  seem  to  be  much  greater 
than  in  the  case  of  the  Pennsylvania  Central,  or  the  Balti 
more  and  Ohio  roads.  What  lay  beyond  the  angle  of  the 
mountain  we  were  climbing  I  could  not  see ;  but  there  is 
certainly  valley  enough  above  the  foot  of  the  Berthoud 
Pass  to  effect  a  rise  of  one  thousand  feet,  which  (with  a 
tunnel  three  miles  in  length,  cutting  off  fifteen  hundred 
feet  of  elevation)  is  all  that  would  be  necessary. 

Mr.  Beard  and  myself  were  so  moved  by  the  breathless 
toil  of  our  animals  that  we  dismounted  at  a  safe  place,  and 
walked.  In  five  minutes  we  were  in  a  worse  condition  than 
the  horses  ;  our  knees  tottered,  our  bodies  were  drenched 
with  sweat,  our  eyes  dim,  heads  giddy,  and  lungs  utterly 
collapsed!  At  every  tenth  step  we  were  obliged  to  pause 
in  order  to  breathe,  and  after  not  more  than  three  hundred 
steps  I  defied  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 
Animals,  and  mounted  again.  I  am  no  light  weight,  and 
therefore  it  was  Cruelty  to  Man  (which  is  worse)  to  carry 
one's  self  up  such  a  steep.  I  think  we  must  have  climbed 
in  this  style  for  a  mile  and  a  half;  it  seemed  interminable. 
Then  the  angle  of  ascent  fell  off  very  greatly  ;  the  fir  for 
est  grew  thick  around  us,  shutting  off  the  view  of  valley 
and  mountains,  and  heaps  of  rotten  snow  began  to  appear 
in  shady  places.  Where  the  trail  had  been  shovelled  out 
of  drifts  a  month  ago,  we  now  rode  over  moist  earth,  be 
tween  dripping,  crumbling  walls  of  snow.  Another  quar 
ter  of  an  hour,  and  the  steeps  fell  back  in  front,  leaving  a 


CROSSING  THE  BERTHOUD  PASS.  83 

lovely  Alpine  meadow,  dotted  with  clumps  of  pine,  the 
vivid  green  of  its  turf  sprinkled  with  snowy  star-flowers, 
and  a  brook  of  icy  crystal  winding  through  it. 

I  was  delighted  when  Mr.  Byers  gave  the  word  to  un 
saddle.  It  was  barely  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  he  said,  to 
the  summit  of  the  Pass ;  whether  we  could  cross  was  still 
a  doubtful  matter ;  and,  before  attempting  it,  both  beasts 
and  men  must  be  fed.  The  former  were  turned  loose  to 
graze  at  will,  with  their  long  lariats  dragging  after  them  ; 
the  latter  unhooked  the  cups  from  their  button-holes, 
opened  the  coffee-bags,  cut  the  ham  with  hunting-knives, 
and  partook  of  the  biscuits  which  were  not  sufficiently 
"  sad."  The  water  of  the  brook  was  so  intensely  cold  that 
it  almost  made  one  scream.  Yet  immediately  out  of  and 
through  it  grew  clusters  of  a  flower  so  purely  beautiful 
that  we  all  cried  out  with  admiration  on  discovering  it. 
Out  of  a  ring  of  broadly  ovate  leaves  (under  the  water) 
rose  a  straight  stem  twelve  to  fifteen  inches  in  height, 
crowned  at  the  top  with  a  cluster  of  dark  crimson-velvet 
flowers,  about  the  size  and  with  the  rich  mealy  bloom  of 
the  polyanthus.  It  is  called,  here,  the  "  Alpine  primrose ; " 
but  I  know  of  neither  cowslip  nor  primrose  that  will  com 
pare  with  it.  The  odor  is  very  peculiar,  resembling  that 
of  Russia  leather.  Here  is  a  treasure  for  our  florists  ! 

While  we  took  our  lunch  and  rested  our  bones  Mr.  Byers 
and  White  discussed  the  passage  of  the  mountains.  Di 
rectly  in  front  of  us  a  depression  in  the  fir-clad  ridge  indi 
cated  the  summit  of  the  Pass,  on  either  side  of  which  bald, 
snowy  peaks  rose  considerably  above  the  timber  line. 
White  had  crossed  the  range  last  week,  with  a  drove  of 
twenty-two  government  horses  ;  but  he  had  gone  consider 
ably  to  the  northward  of  the  Pass,  in  order  to  avoid  the 
snows.  It  was  a  question  whether  we  should  try  to  reopen 
the  old  trail,  or  follow  his  example  and  climb  the  frightful- 
looking  steep  on  our  right  to  a  point  beyond  the  timber. 
Being  a  green  hand,  I  said  nothing ;  but  I  felt  relieved 


84  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

when  the  Pass  was  selected,  for  the  snows  had  been  melt 
ing  very  rapidly,  and  I  was  convinced  that  we  could  falsify 
the  predictions  of  our  friends. 

The  horses  were  saddled,  the  mules  repacked,  and  we 
set  out  upon  the  uncertain  adventure.  There  was  snow 
all  around  us,  —  some  drifts,  even,  lay  on  the  meadow,  — 
and,  even  where  it  had  melted,  the  soil  was  such  an  elastic, 
treacherous  bog,  that  we  did  not  venture  to  ride.  On  all 
sides  rills  came  rushing  down,  uprooted  trees  barred  the 
way,  or  pools  of  black  mud  had  collected.  It  was  impossi 
ble  to  follow  the  trail,  although  we  could  trace  it  by  the 
marks  of  the  shovels.  Slowly,  in  single  file,  stopping  every 
two  minutes  to  lean  upon  our  horses'  necks  and  gasp  for 
breath,  spattered  with  mud  and  wet  with  snow-water,  we 
climbed  through  the  forest,  taking  heart  from  the  knowledge 
that  this  was  our  last  hard  pull.  The  trees  rapidly  grew 
thinner,  the  roaring  rills  became  noiseless  threads  of  water, 
the  snow-drifts  overlapped  each  other  and  must  be  waded, 
and  then  —  the  steep  suddenly  flattened,  and  a  keen  wind 
blew  over  the  summit  of  the  Pass. 

It  is  a  sharp  crest,  with  not  ten  yards  between  the  oppo 
site  declivities.  Here  there  was  an  open  space,  covered 
with  bunch-grass,  among  the  fields  of  snow.  We  were 
just  at  the  limit  of  timber,  a  little  more  than  eleven 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level.  No  general  panorama 
of  the  range  is  visible,  but  there  are  inclosed  views  to  the 
east  and  west.  Behind  us,  a  sweep  of  bleak,  frosty  sum 
mits,  too  near  (apparently),  too  hard  and  sharp,  to  be  beau 
tiful.  Before  us,  far  away  over  the  deeps  of  endless  dark- 
green  forest,  a  grand  Alpine  range, 

"  lifting  there 

A  thousand  shadow-pencilled  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air." 

Still  further,  thirty  or  forty  miles  behind  it,  arose  two  great 
snowy  pyramids,  evidently  beyond  the  North  Park,  and  not 
inferior  in  height  to  Mont  Blanc.  This  view  was  superior, 


CROSSING  THE  BERTHOUD  PASS.  85 

in  all  the  elements  of  sublimity,  to  anything  I  had  seen 
since  entering  the  mountains.  In  the  centre  of  the  bare 
spot  where  we  gathered  grew  a  ranunculus,  a  blossom  of 
which  I  transferred  to  my  note-book. 

Beyond  us,  on  the  Pacific  slope,  we  could  see  nothing 
but  a  waste  of  snow.  Our  two  mountaineers,  therefore, 
determined  to  make  a  preliminary  exploration.  Plunging 
into  the  drifts,  wherein  they  sank  to  their  thighs  at  nearly 
every  step,  they  disappeared  from  sight,  while  we  discussed 
the  chances  of  reaching  the  Park  before  night.  It  was 
now  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  distance  somewhere 
between  twelve  and  fifteen  miles,  and  unknown  hardships 
and  perils  on  the  way  —  by  no  means  an  encouraging  pros 
pect  !  In  half  an  hour  Mr.  Byers  and  White  made  their 
appearance,  very  much  fagged  and  not  particularly  cheer 
ful.  The  former  simply  said,  —  "  We  '11  try  it !  "  and  took 
his  horse's  bridle.  We  followed,  keeping  the  pack-mules 
near  the  centre  of  the  line,  and  commenced  the  descent. 

The  snow,  we  soon  found,  was  of  very  irregular  texture. 
After  walking  three  or  four  steps  on  the  surface,  we  would 
suddenly  plunge  into  a  loose,  melting  mass,  men  and  horses 
floundering  together.  It  was  necessary  to  lead  by  a  long 
rein,  to  avoid  the  leaps  and  struggles  of  the  latter.  Where 
the  descent  was  steep,  I  frequently  found  myself  buried 
nearly  to  the  hips  and  thrown  upon  my  face,  with  the 
horse's  head  resting  on  my  back.  Now  and  then  a  rock,  a 
log,  or  the  top  of  a  sharp  knoll  offered  us  a  resting-place, 
and  the  chance  of  shaking  off  the  snow,  the  penetrative 
cold  of  which  pierced  to  one's  very  marrow.  In  one  place 
there  was  a  gulf  of  snow  overhanging  an  arrowy  torrent. 
I  cleared  it  with  a  leap,  and  then,  as  my  mare  prepared  to 
follow,  took  a  second  leap,  to  give  her  room  to  land.  For 
a  moment  she  hung  by  her  forefeet,  but  a  strong  pull  on 
the  bridle  brought  her  out  of  the  danger.  The  dry,  horny 
branches  of  the  firs  were  also  to  be  avoided ;  they  both 
stabbed  and  tore,  and  in  our  headlong  plunges  it  was  not 


86  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

easy  to  keep  out  of  their  way.  After  nearly  a  mile  of  this 
travel,  when  strength,  hope,  and  courage  were  on  the  point 
of  giving  out,  the  drifts  diminished,  and  we  could  now  and 
then  walk  in  a  bog  of  black  mud,  which  was  a  pleasant 
relief.  A  little  further,  and  Mr.  Byers  announced  that  the 
trail  was  found,  although  not  yet  practicable  —  we  must 
still  break  our  own  way. 

Our  faces  were  smarting  and  our  throats  were  parched, 
yet  the  snow-water,  which  set  our  teeth  on  edge  with  its 
coldness,  did  not  seem  to  quench  thirst  in  the  least.  We 
were  soon  enabled,  however,  to  mount,  and  throw  the  bur 
den  of  fatigue  on  the  horses.  After  a  short  but  very  steep 
descent,  the  path  was  barred  by  an  impetuous  torrent, 
which  was  crossed  at  one  point  by  a  frail  arch  of  snow  left 
from  a  drift.  White  boldly  walked  over,  leading  his  horse 
after  him :  but  no  one  else  dared  to  follow.  After  a  little 
search  we  found  a  fordable  place,  and  crossed,  with  the 
water  foaming  up  to  our  saddles.  There  was  yet  another 
branch  of  the  same  river  before  us,  and  this  proved  to  be 
both  deeper  and  swifter.  Mr.  Beard's  mule  tottered  and 
gave  way,  but  regained  his  footing  just  on  the  brink  of  a 
rapid,  and  with  a  little  care  we  all  got  safely  over. 

We  were  now  afrle  to  follow  the  trail,  except  where  it 
led  into  boggy  holes,  where  the  horses  frequently  sank  to 
their  bellies.  On  account  of  the  fallen  timber,  it  was  a 
work  of  considerable  difficulty  to  get  around  these  holes. 
An  interminable  forest  surrounded  us.  During  the  first 
four  or  five  miles,  we  had  an  occasional  glimpse  of  open 
green  meadows  on  our  right,  and  spurs  of  the  snowy  range 
towering  beyond ;  afterwards,  nothing  but  a  dark  wilder 
ness  of  pines,  firs,  and  aspens.  The  descent  was  very 
gradual  —  so  much  so,  that  after  travelling  for  three  hours, 
we  were  still  in  the  midst  of  snow-drifts.  My  boots  were 
completely  sodden,  and  my  feet  and  legs  soon  became  so 
icy  cold  that  I  was  forced  to  walk  a  good  part  of  the  way, 
although  the  exercise  seemed  to  rack  every  joint  in  the 


CROSSING  THE  BERTHOUD  PASS.  87 

body.  Mile  after  mile  and  hour  after  hour  passed  by,  and 
still  the  same  gloomy,  dreary  forest ;  still  snow,  mud-holes, 
and  fallen  logs.  We  had  forced  the  Berthoud  Pass,  and 
expected  to  camp  in  the  Park,  which  was  cause  for  con 
gratulation  ;  but  how  devoutly  we  longed  for  the  valley  to 
open ! 

A  break  in  the  wood  showed  us  the  evening  shadows 
high  on  the  opposite  mountain.  The  air  was  already  damp 
and  chill,  and  the  open,  level  portion  of  the  Park  was  yet 
two  miles  distant.  All  at  once  the  trail  entered  a  meadow 
of  deep  grass,  two  acres  in  extent,  and  our  leader  dis 
mounted  under  a  clump  of  trees.  Mr.  Beard  and  myself 
rolled  out  of  our  saddles,  ungirthed,  turned  the  animals 
loose,  and  then  threw  ourselves  down  before  the  fire  (which 
had  been  immediately  kindled),  too  fatigued  to  be  very 
conscious  of  rest.  It  was  very  fortunate  that  Mr.  Sumner 
has  a  talent  for  cooking ;  had  the  meal  depended  on  either 
of  us,  I  fear  it  would  have  been  of  the  "  square  "  order. 
A  pot  of  coffee  —  hot,  black,  and  strong  —  soon  circulated 
among  us,  a  veritable  lubricating  oil  to  stiff  joints,  and  an 
anodyne  to  bruised  muscles. 

There  were  no  songs  and  stories  around  the  camp-fire. 
Each  one  made  haste  to  find  a  portion  of  the  earth's  sur 
face  as  little  lumpy  as  possible,  and  dispose  his  blankets 
with  a  view  to  warmth  and  comfort.  The  artist  and  I 
united  our  stock  of  bedding,  and  I  added  a  mattress  of  fir 
boughs,  but  we  had  little  comfort  during  the  night.  The 
mosquitoes  were  plentiful,  the  noises  of  the  animals  dis 
turbed  us,  and  toward  morning  it  became  wretchedly  cold. 
The  meadow  was  flooded  with  splendid  moonlight,  and 
whenever  I  opened  my  eyes  on  the  mysterious  mazes  of 
light  and  gloom  in  the  depth  of  the  forest,  I  became  ex 
cited  and  restless.  It  seemed  a  long  while  until  the  chilly 
dawn  arrived ;  but  then,  the  last  nap  I  took,  while  some 
body  else  was  kindling  the  fire,  refreshed  me  more  than  all 
the  broken  sleep  of  the  night. 


XII. 


ADVENTURES    IN    THE    MIDDLE    PARK. 

CAMP  NEAR  BLUE  RIVER,  MIDDLE  PARK,  July  1, 1866. 

OUR  first  morning  in  camp  found  us  sore,  stiff',  and  but 
half  refreshed  after  the  hardships  of  crossing  the  Pass. 
Nevertheless,  we  breakfasted,  saddled,  packed,  and  got 
under  way  with  alacrity,  encouraged  by  the  prospect  of 
a  restorative  bath  at  the  Hot  Springs,  which  are  said  to 
heal  all  sorts  of  ailments,  bring  the  hair  to  bald  heads,  and 
put  new  blood  into  old  veins. 

The  trail  bore  away  to  the  left  of  Frazer  River,  over 
gently  undulating  ground,  still  wooded ;  but  the  trees  were 
smaller,  the  soil  dry,  and  the  increasing  gleams  of  sky 
through  the  topmost  boughs  indicated  that  we  were  getting 
out  of  the  mountains.  On  the  way  we  found  a  geranium 
—  pink,  veined  with  purple ;  a  beautiful  orchid,  almost 
identical  with  the  cyclamen  of  Italy  and  Greece ;  violets ; 
rose-colored  pogonias,  with  a  delicate,  peach-blossom  odor  ; 
and  huge  beds  of  a  snow-white,  golden-hearted  star-flower. 
The  occasional  openings  among  the  pines  were  natural 
gardens,  which  I  regretted  to  see  trampled  upon  by  the 
hoofs  of  our  beasts. 

After  riding  thus  for  half  an  hour,  there  was  an  exclama 
tion  from  the  foremost  of  the  party.  The  long,  long  forest 
was  at  an  end  ;  we  found  ourselves  at  the  head  of  a  superb 
meadow  stretching  westward  for  five  or  six  miles ;  bounded 
on  the  north,  first  by  low  gray  hills  of  fantastic  shape,  then 
by  great  green  ascending  slopes  of  forest,  and  above  all, 
jagged  ranges  of  rock  and  snow.  On  the  south  were  low 


ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK.  89 

swells  of  pine  and  aspen,  near  at  hand ;  twenty  miles  be 
hind  them  detached  spurs  of  mountains,  conspicuous  among 
which  rose  a  lofty  wedge-like  peak.  Although  on  the  Pa-, 
cific  slope  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  dividing  ridge,  or 
water-shed  between  the  two  oceans,  embraced  us  on  three 
sides.  The  main  chain  meanders  through  Colorado  in  a 
curiously  tortuous  course.  It  comes  down  the  west  side  of 
the  North  Park  (which  is  drained  by  the  head-waters  of 
the  North  Platte)  ;  then  turns  directly  eastward,  separating 
the  North  from  the  Middle  Park ;  then  southward,  bound 
ing  the  Middle  Park  (the  waters  of  which  flow  to  the  Col 
orado  and  the  Californian  Gulf)  on  the  east ;  then  due  west 
ward,  dividing  the  Middle  from  the  South  Park  (which 
collects  and  unites  the  waters  of  the  South  Platte)  ;  and 
finally,  after  making  an  abrupt  curve  around  the  head-wa 
ters  of  the  Arkansas,  strikes  southward  toward  New  Mexico. 
The  Parks  form  a  very  remarkable  feature  of  the  mountain 
region.  They  resemble,  on  a  smaller  scale,  the  lofty,  moun 
tain-bounded  table-lands  of  Cashmere  and  Thibet.  They 
are  still  but  imperfectly  explored,  and  still  more  imperfectly 
represented  on  the  maps.  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  any 
minute  description  of  their  scenery,  soil,  and  climate ; 
hence,  every  step  of  the  present  journey  has  been  full  of 
interest.  In  fact,  none  of  the  accounts  of  travel  among 
the  Rocky  Mountains  seem  to  me  to  present  their  individ 
uality,  as  mountains,  very  distinctly  —  to  discriminate  be 
tween  what  is  original,  and  peculiar  to  them,  and  those 
general  features  which  all  mountain  regions  possess  in 
common.  Each  day,  thus  far,  has  brought  me  its  new 
surprises  ;  but  I  shall  content  myself,  at  present,  with  giv 
ing  the  details  of  the  journey. 

The  change  from  the  forest  to  this  meadow  was  that  from 
confinement  to  liberty.  Our  animals  seemed  to  feel  it  also, 
and  trotted  forward  briskly  through  the  thick  green  grass. 
Near  the  head  of  the  meadow  we  passed  a  large  hay-stack 
and  squatter's  shanty,  where  the  horses  pastured  in  the 


90  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

Park  are  fed  during  the  winter.  Only  one  man  —  Jones, 
who  discovered  the  new  pass  —  has  attempted  to  establish 
a  ranche.  He  has  sowed  sixty  acres  of  grain  on  the  lower 
part  of  Grand  River,  but  White  informs  me  that  the  attempt 
does  not  promise  much.  The  average  level  of  the  Park 
above  the  sea  cannot  be  less  than  eight  thousand  feet. 
Although  the  extreme  of  cold  is  not  so  great  as  in  Denver, 
the  winter  is  so  long,  and  the  summer  nights  so  cool,  that 
it  is  doubtful  whether  grain  (except  barley  and  oats)  can 
be  raised. 

My  lean  mare  was  evidently  not  adequate  to  the  task ; 
so  White,  catching  sight  of  a  herd  of  horses  and  mules, 
near  the  further  end  of  the  meadow,  promised  me  an  Indian 
pony  in  exchange,  and  rode  off  in  advance  to  drive  in  the 
herd.  The  animals,  like  those  we  had  taken  from  Empire, 
belong  to  Charley  Utter,  whom  we  had  hoped  to  have  as  a 
companion  for  the  journey ;  but  he  had  joined  the  rush  of 
gold-hunters  for  Bear  River  (a  hundred  miles  west  of  the 
Middle  Park),  and  had  not  yet  returned.  Mr.  Beard,  also, 
groaned  over  his  McClellan  saddle,  and  the  gait  of  his  mule. 
We  both,  therefore,  looked  forward  with  some  impatience 
to  the  noonday  halt. 

After  crossing  a  number  of  swift,  swollen  streams  which 
came  down  from  the  left,  we  reached  a  higher  and  dryer 
part  of  the  meadow,  and  the  strong,  juicy  grass  gave  place 
to  sage-bush  and  flowers  —  a  plain  of  silver-gray,  sprinkled 
with  a  myriad  minute  dots  of  color.  The  odor  which  filled 
the  air  was  so  exquisite  as  slightly  to  intoxicate  the  senses. 
For  miles  I  seemed  to  be  riding  through  a  Turkish  bazaar, 
and  inhaling  the  mingled  scent  of  cloves,  sandal -wood,  and 
attar  of  roses.  My  aches  and  cramps  were  forgotten :  I 
swam  in  an  atmosphere  of  balm,  half  narcotized  with  the 
rich,  voluptuous  delight  of  breathing  it. 

White  started  up  a  very  large  fox,  which  was  cunning 
enough  to  keep  out  of  rifle-range.  We  skirted  the  wood 
on  the  left,  and  left  the  meadow  for  a  low,  dry  plateau, 


ADVENTURES  IN   THE  MIDDLE  PARK.  91 

which  was  one  mile-long  bed  of  blue  larkspurs  and  scarlet 
star-wort.  The  grazing  animals  had  been  added  to  our 
caballada,  and  we  sped  merrily  along  the  trail,  increasing 
the  breadth  and  sweep  of  our  panoramic  landscapes,  as  we 
penetrated  deeper  into  the  hilly  region.  I  exchanged  my 
mare  for  a  tough  little  yellow  Indian  pony,  barefooted,  but 
nimble  and  intelligent:  after  inspecting  me  with  his  nose, 
and  apparently  finding  no  objection,  he  established  confi 
dential  relations  at  once,  and  has  served  me,  thus  far,  with 
unswerving  fidelity. 

It  was  a  singular  country  through  which  we  rode,  and  I 
regret  that  I  am  not  able  to  describe  its  geological  char 
acter.  Hills  wooded  with  aspen,  and  narrow,  grassy  dells, 
alternated  with  wide  sweeps  of  irregular  table-land,  treeless 
and  bare,  except  for  a  growth  of  sage  and  larkspur.  The 
valleys  of  the  larger  streams  which  thread  the  Middle  Park 
were  shut  out  from  view,  but  the  distant  cincture  of  Alpine 
summits  met  the  eye,  in  every  direction.  We  rode  twenty 
miles,  —  two  thirds  of  the  distance  to  the  Hot  Springs,  — 
made  a  brief  noon-camp  beside  a  brook,  and  then  pushed 
forward  again  toward  a  lofty  range  of  hills  which  arose  be 
fore  us. 

Gradually,  all  the  eastern  portion  of  the  Park  came  into 
view.  I  readily  distinguished  the  Berthoud  Pass,  as  well 
as  that  at  the  head  of  Clear  Creek,  and  could  roughly  meas 
ure  by  the  eye  both  their  elevation  above  the  Park  and 
the  character  of  the  approaches  which  they  offer  for  a  rail 
road.  On  this  side  of  the  mountains  there  seems  to  be  no 
difficulty,  except  such  as  might  arise  from  heavy  snows 
during  the  winter.  To  the  northeast  Mr.  Byers  pointed 
out  the  Bowlder  Pass,  which  rises  above  the  timber  line, 
but  is  almost  bare  of  snow.  It  is  practicable  for  wagons, 
but  is  very  little  travelled.  An  isolated  chimney  rock,  two 
or  three  hundred  feet  in  height,  stands  like  a  beacon  on  the 
very  summit  of  this  pass. 

I  can  add  to  my  own  Mr.  Beard's  testimony  as  to  the 


92  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

originality  of  the  Park  scenery,  in  an  artistic  point  of  view. 
The  features  are  large  and  broad,  with  outlines  to  some 
extent  fantastic,  yet  not  inharmonious.  In  color,  gray  pre 
dominates,  but  a  gray  most  rare  in  landscape,  —  silvery  over 
the  sage-plains,  greenish  and  pearly  along  the  slopes  of 
bunch-grass,  and  occasionally  running  into  red  where  the 
soil  shows  through  the  thin  vegetation.  In  the  grand  views 

—  fifty  miles  in  extent  —  from  the  ridge  we  were  climbing, 
there  were  no  positive  tints,  but  the  most  delicate  and  sur 
prising  succession  of  broad  half-tints,  to  which  sunshine 
and  cloud-shadows  lent  the  loveliest  effect.      The  brush 
only  can  describe  landscapes  so  new  in  character.     I  found 
myself  thinking  of  Central  Asia,  —  of  the  regions  of  Ko 
kand  and  Kashgar,  as  I  imagine  them  to  be.     From  this 
point,  there  were  no  forests,  except  aspen  groves,  on  the 
crests  of  the  hills ;   the  gray  undulations  swept  into  the 
distance,  dipping  here  and  there  into  hollows  of  singular 
form,  and  leaning,  far  away,  against  the  feet  of  mountain- 
ranges,  where  there  was  the  faint  green  glimmer  of  a  mead 
ow  at  the  foot  of  every  snowy  ravine.     The  flushed  snows 
of  the  farther  summits  did  not  seem  lofty  and  inaccessible, 

—  our  own  elevation  reduced  the  highest  of  them  to  less 
than  seven  thousand  feet, —  but  their  irregular  character  and 
great  variety  of  outline  gave  the  true  background  for  such 
landscapes. 

The  animals  occasioned  us  much  trouble  during  this 
day's  journey.  Our  little  black  pack-mule,  Peter,  has  a 
diabolical  knack  of  shifting  his  load,  so  that  the  proper 
balance  is  lost,  and  the  pack-saddle  turns.  On  one  of 
these  occasions,  while  White  and  I  were  engaged  in  re 
packing,  Mr.  Beard  rode  up  and  offered  his  services.  It  was 
fortunate  that  we  did  not  need  them,  for  he  afterward  con 
fessed  that  he  had  tried  to  dismount,  and  (in  consequence 
of  the  previous  day's  hardships)  was  unable  to  do  so.  I 
was  in  scarcely  better  plight,  but  had  no  reason  to  com 
plain  ;  I  had  been  wishing  for  severe  physical  fatigue,  and 


ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK.  93 

now  I  have  it  in  abundance.  We  were  obliged  to  drive 
with  us  an  Arapahoe  mare,  belonging  to  the  new  herd,  and 
a  more  outrageous  creature  never  grazed.  By  some  sort 
of  animal  magnetism,  she  immediately  took  command  of 
all  our  horses,  and  mules,  and  yet  never  lost  an  opportunity 
of  biting,  kicking,  and  driving  them  from  the  trail.  The 
more  violent  her  behavior  toward  them,  the  more  they 
were  fascinated  with  her.  Her  vicious  eyes  were  always  on 
the  lookout ;  while  we  watched  her  all  was  quiet,  but  the 
moment  we  became  absorbed  in  scenery  or  some  topic  of 
conversation,  she  would  dash  at  one  of  the  animals  and 
break  up  the  line  of  march.  White  confessed  that  she  had 
exasperated  him  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  shot  at  her,  and 
was  now  sorry  that  he  missed. 

Gradually  climbing  the  hills,  among  beds  of  crimson  and 
violet  lupins,  scarlet  star-flowers,  and  many  showy  unknown 
plants,  we  came  at  last  to  a  divide,  whence  the  trail  sloped 
down  to  the  valley  of  Grand  River  at  the  Hot  Springs,  now 
four  miles  distant.  Mr.  Byers  pointed  out  a  bluff,  covered 
with  scattering  clumps  of  red  cedar,  as  the  objective  point 
of  our  day's  journey.  On  our  right  towered  a  lofty  ridge, 
thrusting  out  buttresses  of  perpendicular  rock,  crowned 
with  pines ;  and  beyond  the  Grand  River  arose  a  similar, 
but  much  grander  and  more  abrupt  formation.  Between 
the  two  the  river  issued,  winding  away  westward  among 
green,  interlocking  hills,  until  we  could  only  guess  its  gate 
way  out  of  the  Park  among  some  snow-peaks,  thirty  or  forty 
miles  away. 

The  prospect  of  a  sulphur-bath  helped  us  over  the  re 
mainder  of  the  way,  and  in  another  hour  we  dismounted 
in  a  meadow  on  the  banks  of  the  Grand  River,  directly 
opposite  to  the  Hot  Springs.  Mr.  Byers  looked  at  the 
stream,  and  meditated ;  White  did  the  same  thing.  It  was 
fluid  ice  (for  coldness),  forty  or  fifty  yards  wide,  swift  as  an 
arrow,  and  evidently  too  deep  to  ford.  On  the  opposite 
bank  we  saw  a  rough  log-cabin,  on  a  little  knoll,  and  a 


94  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

stream  of  white,  smoking  water  tumbling  down  a  rock,  ten 
feet  high,  in  a  smoking  pool  below.  Forms  were  moving 
amonor  some  cotton-woods  on  the  river  bottom ;  their  red 

O 

blankets  announced  that  they  were  Indians.  While  we 
were  hesitating,  some  rheumatic  eremite  whom  White 
knew,  came  down  to  the  bank,  and  with  much  difficulty 
shouted  across  above  the  roar  of  the  water,  that  it  was  im 
possible  to  cross ;  we  must  go  eight  miles  higher  up  the 
river.  (But  eight  miles  on  the  opposite  side  meant  fifteen 
on  ours.)  Two  of  us,  at  least,  were  in  no  mood  to  remount 
that  day,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  did  not  seem  very  en 
thusiastic. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  we  should  camp  where  we 
were,  and  those  who  wished  to  visit  the  Hot  Springs  should 
swim  the  river.  White  and  I  stripped  to  our  shirts  and 
drawers,  mounted  our  animals  bare-backed,  and  rode  down 
to  the  water.  While  we  were  trying  to  force  them  in,  they 
refusing  with  all  their  might,  we  were  again  hailed  from  the 
other  side,  and  warned  against  making  the  attempt.  A 
short  distance  below  us  the  river  entered  a  canon,  and  be 
came  a  cataract.  This  fact,  combined  with  the  fearful 
coldness  and  swiftness  of  the  current,  made  us  pause.  It 
was  no  doubt  well  that  we  did  so,  —  well  that  we  silently 
turned  and  rode  back  to  the  camp.  All  I  can  say  of  the 
Hot  Springs,  therefore,  is,  that  they  gush  from  the  earth  in 
a  stream  almost  large  enough  to  turn  a  mill ;  that  they 
make  a  smoking  cascade,  with  a  hot  pool  below  ;  that  they 
are  said  to  work  wonderful  cures  ;  and  that  two  gentlemen 
dispute  the  priority  of  preempting  them. 

There  we  were,  on  the  bare  plain,  without  a  tree  for  shel 
ter,  our  only  fuel  the  rubbish  left  from  former  camp-fires, 
and  a  black  thunder-storm  coming  up.  Turning  the  horses 
loose  to  drag  their  lariats  and  graze,  we  first  kindled  a  fire, 
and  then  set  about  securing  our  baggage  from  the  rain. 
Forming  a  sort  of  platform  with  fragments  of  wood,  we 
placed  our  blankets  and  sacks  thereon,  and  covered  them 


ADVENTURES  IN   THE  MIDDLE  PARK.  95 

with  india-rubber  cloth.  Mr.  Beard  was  at  great  pains  to 
find  a  place  for  his  umbrella  under  the  water-proof;  and 
not  until  the  storm  was  over,  leaving  us  half-soaked,  did  it 
occur  to  him  that  he  might  have  used  it!  Fortunately, 
there  was  more  wind  and  thunder  than  rain,  and  the  su 
perb  indigo-gray  of  the.  mountains  in  shadow  repaid  us  for 
the  drenching.  Toward  evening,  it  became  very  evident 
that  the  Arapahoe  mare  was  slyly  leading  our  animals  out 
of  our  view,  in  order  to  make  off  with  them.  White  trudged 
away  through  the  wet  grass  and  brought  them  back ;  but 
it  was  necessary,  moreover,  to  catch  and  picket  the  mare. 

It  was  easier  to  decide  that  this  should  be  done,  than  to 
do  it.  The  mare  was  separated  from  the  other  animals, 
and  driven  into  a  corner  of  the  meadow  between  the  river 
and  the  bluffs  at  the  entrance  of  the  canon.  One  of  the 
gentlemen  then  took  his  stand  above,  while  White  cau 
tiously  approached  with  a  lariat.  Skill  and  strategy  were 
alike  in  vain  ;  with  a  whirl  and  a  dash  she  avoided  the  fly 
ing  noose,  and  shot  off  between  her  pursuers.  Others  went 
to  the  rescue,  and  the  scene  soon  became  very  exciting. 
All  the  other  horses  and  mules  left  off  grazing,  drew  near, 
and  watched  the  contest  with  the  most  absorbed  interest. 
It  was  perfectly  evident  that  they  understood  this  was  to 
be  a  test  of  power,  settling  the  question  whether  they  were 
to  be  ruled  by  us  or  the  mare.  They  were  politicians  on 
the  fence,  and  reminded  us  of  newspapers  and  individuals, 
who  and  which  shall  be  nameless.  To  watch  them  was  to 
me  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  spectacle ;  they  fol 
lowed  every  movement  of  men  and  mare,  standing  knee- 
deep  in  rich  grass  which  they  never  thought  of  cropping. 
It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  the  provoking  beast  was  finally 
cornered,  noosed,  and  tied  to  a  tree.  The  other  animals 
then  turned  away  and  went  to  their  grazing,  paying  not 
the  slightest  heed  to  her.  She  was  nobody,  now  that  she 
could  no  longer  kick  nor  patronize.  Then  I  thought  of 
certain  political  leaders. 


96  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

White's  rage  was  not  yet  allayed.  He  took  a  piece  of 
sapling,  and  laid  it  heavily  on  the  mare's  hide.  Then  lie 
came  back  and  sat  down  by  the  fire,  declaring  that  she 
should  have  no  pasture  that  night.  Half  an  hour  passed ; 
the  rest  of  the  herd  were  luxuriating  on  the  meadow,  while 
the  culprit,  sore  and  hungry,  hung  her  head  dejectedly  be 
side  the  tree.  White  arose,  stole  quietly  away,  made  a 
picket,  brought  the  mare  down  to  the  meadow,  and  fastened 
her  in  good  pasture.  "  She  looked  kind  o'  pitiful,"  he  said. 

We  made  our  bed  on  the  wet  earth,  expecting  to  be 
rained  upon  during  the  night ;  but  the  heavens  were  mer 
ciful,  and  we  enjoyed  sound  and  tolerably  dry  sleep.  I 
experienced  three  distinct  electric  shocks,  probably  from 
the  fact  that  I  was  insulated  by  the  india-rubber  cloth  upon 
which  I  lay,  and  then  touched  the  earth  with  my  'hand. 
On  the  snowy  ranges  persons  are  sometimes  so  charged, 
that  there  are  sparks  and  crackling  sounds  at  every  move 
ment  of  their  bodies.  Men  unacquainted  with  the  phe 
nomenon  imagine  that  bees  have  gotten  into  their  hair,  and 
that  rattlesnakes  are  at  their  heels.  Many  strange  stories 
are  told  of  the  effect  of  the  fluid,  which  seems  to  manifest 
itself  in  an  eccentric  but  not  a  dangerous  form. 


XIII. 

THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK. 

BRECKENRIDGE,  BLUE  RIVER,  July  2, 1866. 

WE  arose  from  our  moist  couch  on  the  banks  of  Grand 
River,  to  find  the  stream  still  rising,  and  a  thick  mist,  fore 
boding  rain,  spread  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  Mr.  Byers's 
friend,  Dr.  Wharton,  who  was  encamped  at  the  Springs, 
came  down  to  the  opposite  bank,  and  some  notes,  tied  to 
stones,  were  exchanged.  I  received  in  this  way  a  pink 
malva,  which  made  the  airy  journey  without  damage.  Our 
further  route  gave  rise  to  a  serious  consultation.  In  three 
days  more  I  had  appointed  to  be  in  Breckenridge,  at  the 
head  of  Blue  River,  about  seventy-five  miles  from  the 
Springs.  There  was  no  probability  that  we  could  ford  the 
Blue,  in  the  present  swollen  condition  of  all  the  mountain 
streams,  and  the  regular  trail  lay  beyond  that  river.  We 
were  aware,  indeed,  that  the  Ute  Indians  made  use  of 
another  trail  on  this  side,  striking  directly  across  the  Mid 
dle  Park  (the  diameter  of  which  is  nearly  a  hundred 
miles),  but  none  of  our  party  had  ever  traversed  it,  or 
knew  anything  about  it  beyond  the  rumor  that  it  was  ex 
ceedingly  difficult  and  dangerous. 

Yet  there  was  no  alternative  —  we  were  limited  to  the 
choice  of  this  unknown  route.  It  was  a  matter  of  great 
regret  that  we  had  failed  in  reaching  the  Hot  Springs,  and 
I  proposed  to  start  for  Breckenridge  in  company  with 
White,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  party  to  cross  the  Grand  at 
the  upper  ford  if  they  preferred.  They  decided,  however, 
that  we  should  keep  together,  and  we  made  immediate 
preparations  for  departure. 
7 


98  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

We  first  retraced  our  trail  for  two  miles  or  more,  then, 
turning  westward,  crossed  a  high  ridge  wooded  with  aspen, 
and  descended  toward  the  Grand  over  aromatic  slopes  of 
sage-bush.  The  mist  rolled  into  clouds  and  hid  all  the 
higher  mountains  from  view,  —  which  I  greatly  regretted, 
as  from  this  point  we  might  have  seen  the  Rabbit-Ears  — 
two  remarkable  Alpine  horns  on  the  western  border  of  the 
North  Park.  We  struck  the  Grand  in  the  canon  below 
the  Springs,  and  for  some  distance  the  path  was  notched 
along  the  side  of  a  fir-wooded  steep,  over  the  roaring  flood. 
Small  brooks,  invisible  under  dense  willow  thickets,  came 
down  on  our  left,  making  deep  side-dells  in  the  bluff.  It 
was  not  very  far,  however,  before  the  canon  opened,  reveal 
ing  a  broad  gray  landscape,  through  which  the  Grand  could 
be  traced  into  the  distance  by  its  belt  of  cotton-woods. 

We  rode  forward  over  what  is  called  the  "  second  bot 
tom  "  —  a  low  table-land,  rising  into  hills  a  mile  from  the 
river,  covered  with  a  uniform  growth  of  silvery  sage,  and 
dotted  with  grazing  antelope.  The  sun  came  out,  the  mist 
arose  from  the  snowy  ranges,  and  all  aspects  were  cheerful 
except  the  company  of  the  Arapahoe  mare,  which,  thank 
Heaven !  was  not  to  last  long.  We  heard  the  cry  of  an 
eagle  circling  in  the  air  over  our  heads,  and  had  not  pro 
ceeded  half  a  mile  further  before  we  discovered  an  eagle's 
nest  in  the  top  of  a  cotton-wood,  just  under  the  edge  of  the 
bluff.  We  were  able  to  ride  within  a  hundred  feet  and 
look  into  it.  Three  eaglets  —  awkward,  owlish  creatures, 
completely  covered  with  thick  gray  down  —  sat  on  the 
edges  of  the  nest,  which  was  a  huge  structure  of  sticks, 
and  yelped  piteously.  It  was  a  rare  piece  of  good  fortune 
for  all  of  us,  none  of  whom  had  ever  seen  (and  probably 
will  never  see  again)  an  eagle's  nest  with  the  brood  in  it. 
Mr.  Beard,  with  the  aid  of  a  good  glass,  made  a  permanent 
acquisition ;  and  when  his  picture  is  exhibited,  I  can  testify 
that  he  paints  what  he  has  seen. 

Williams  Fork, — or,  as  it  is  better  called,  Roaring  Fork, 


THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK.         99 

—  a  large  affluent  of  the  Grand,  now  announced  itself  in 
front,  by  the  tops  of  its  timber  rising  above  the  bluff.  It 
was  also  much  swollen,  and  the  fording  was  a  matter  of 
some  difficulty.  Mr.  Byers,  as  usual,  led  the  way,  breast 
ing  the  icy  water,  which,  striking  his  horse's  side,  almost 
swept  over  its  back.  We  all  took  an  extremely  cold  leg- 
bath,  and  my  pony  came  within  an  ace  of  being  carried 
down  the  stream.  On  the  opposite  bank  we  divided  our 
party,  White  taking  the  spare  animals  (including  the  Ara- 
pahoe  mare)  to  Charley  titter's  cabin,  five  miles  further 
down  the  Grand,  while  the  rest  of  us  determined  to  try  the 
Ute  trail,  up  the  west  bank  of  Roaring  Fork.  This  ar 
rangement  would  save  us  several  miles  of  the  journey,  as 
White,  on  his  strong  mule,  could  easily  rejoin  us  during 
the  afternoon.  Somewhere  ahead  of  us  lay  the  famous 
moss-agate  region,  which  we  were  especially  desirous  of 
visiting,  each  one  having  his  private  hopes  of  jewelry  for 
wife  or  sweetheart. 

The  soil  on  the  narrow  bottoms  of  Roaring  Fork  is  the 
purest  humus,  producing  grass  of  astonishing  rankness  and 
richness,  which  our  animals  snapped  at  with  crazy  eager 
ness.  We  had  not  proceeded  a  mile,  however,  before  our 
way  was  barred  by  an  abrupt  mountain,  through  the  centre 
of  which  the  stream  forced  its  way,  in  a  narrow,  rock-walled 
slit  —  a  canon  (funnel)  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word. 
The  trail  led  us  into  this  cleft,  taking  the  very  edge  of  a 
precipice  two  hundred  feet  in  perpendicular  depth,  where 
there  was  barely  room  for  our  horses  to  set  their  hoofs. 
Under  us  the  river  was  a  mass  of  foam :  opposite  —  not  a 
stone's  throw  across  —  rose  the  jagged  walls  of  dark-red 
rock,  terminating  in  fantastic  pinnacles.  It  was  an  excit 
ing  passage,  not  unmixed  with  fear,  especially  when  the 
disarrangement  of  a  saddle  in  advance  forced  Mr.  Beard 
and  myself  to  halt  for  five  minutes  in  the  narrowest  part 
of  the  pass,  where  portions  of  the  rock  under  us  had  crum 
bled  away. 


100  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

A  valley  succeeded ;  then  a  second  and  loftier  range, 
where  the  dividing  canon  disclosed  the  most  singular  for 
mations  of  rock  —  natural  fortresses  and  towers.  One  trail 
wound  away  to  the  right;  another  (possibly  an  old  elk- 
path)  seemed  to  lead  directly  into  the  gorge.  The  former 
was  preferable,  on  account  of  the  pack-mules ;  but  Mr. 
McCandless  and  myself  determined  to  try  the  latter,  be 
lieving  that  we  might  gain  in  time  what  we  lost  in  labori 
ous  travel.  The  ascent  was  so  steep,  that  we  could  with 
difficulty  keep  our  foothold  in  climbing ;  and  it  was  won 
derful  to  see  the  confidence  which  the  horses  had  in  our 
leadership  and  the  dexterity  with  which  they  followed  us. 
My  pony  used  his  hoofs  as  I  did  my  hands,  taking  hold  of 
grass-tufts  and  projections  of  rock,  and  resting  with  his 
nose  on  my  shoulder  when  I  stopped  to  take  breath.  Huge, 
detached  masses  of  rock  and  bushes  prevented  our  having 
a  good  view  of  the  chasm,  but  the  general  wildness  and 
picturesqueness  of  the  scenery  was  an  ample  repayment 
for  our  toil.  From  the  highest  part  of  the  Pass  another 
grand  gray  landscape  opened  to  the  southward,  magnifi 
cently  bounded  by  a  dark-green  mountain  chain,  every 
summit  of  which  was  a  jagged  pyramid  of  snow. 

After  half  an  hour  of  rather  laborious  scrambling,  I 
reached  the  grassy  meadow  beyond  the  canon.  Looking 
back,  I  saw  the  others  of  the  party  slowly  creeping  over  a 
mountain  ridge  a  mile  or  more  to  the  west.  I  thereupon 
struck  a  diagonal  course,  and  presently  came  upon  the 
Indian  trail,  on  the  "second  bottom."  Here  the  ground 
was  strewn  with  rough  agates,  but  with  all  my  search  I 
could  find  no  mossy  specimens.  When  the  others  arrived, 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  I  found  that  their  experience 
had  been  precisely  similar.  Our  dreams  of  complete  sets 
of  jewelry  diminished  to  a  single  brooch  or  ring,  and  then 
faded  into  the  thin  atmosphere  of  disappointed  hopes. 
None  of  us  found  a  single  moss-agate. 

Here  and  there  on  the  trail  we  could  detect  the  marks 


THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK.  101 

of  lodge-poles,  which,  we  supposed,  were  made  by  the  Utes 
in  passing  from  Blue  to  Grand  River.  As  this  was  our 
only  guidance  through  the  unknown  portion  of  the  Park, 
we  followed  it,  although  its  general  direction  seemed  too 
much  east  of  south.  The  mountain  range  in  front  was 
apparently  a  spur  thrust  out  from  the  south  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  Park,  and  we  must  cross  it  in  order  to  reach 
the  Valley  of  Blue  River.  The  government  maps  were  of 
no  assistance,  —  they  omitted  the  mountains,  and  inserted 
streams  which  have  no  existence.  Directly  in  front  of  us 
towered  a  splendid  peak,  not  less  than  fourteen  thousand 
feet  in  height ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  practicable  pass 
across  the  range  except  immediately  on  either  side  of  it :  so 
long,  therefore,  as  our  trail  tended  toward  it,  we  could  not 
go  very  far  astray.  It  was  about  twenty  miles  to  the  base 
of  the  range,  the  intermediate  country  being  a  mixture  of 
rich,  grassy  valleys,  sage-clad  table-land,  and  picturesque, 
broken  hills,  flecked  with  groves  of  aspen  and  fir. 

We  started  up  several  sage-hens,  with  their  broods  of 
young.  They  are  a  kind  of  grouse,  about  the  size  of  the 
prairie-chicken,  and  of  gray,  mottled  plumage.  Their  color 
seems  to  be  their  chief  protection,  as  was  shown  by  their 
reliance  upon  it.  The  young  birds  scarcely  took  the 
trouble  to  get  out  of  our  way,  and  one  of  them  was  caught 
sitting  under  a  sage-bush,  and  looking  with  bright,  un 
shrinking  eyes  directly  in  the  face  of  its  captor.  Of  course 
we  did  not  shoot  the  hens,  —  an  act  of  self-denial  (our  salt 
fare  being  considered)  which  ought  to  be  set  down  to  our 
credit.  Ere  long  we  reached  meadows  again,  threaded  by 
swift  tributary  brooks  of  the  Roaring  Fork.  The  passage 
of  these  streams,  small  as  they  were,  gave  us  some  trouble, 
owing  to  the  treacherous  character  of  the  soil.  Mr.  Beard's 
mule  went  down  and  rolled  over  upon  him,  pinning  him 
fast  in  the  mud,  and  my  pony  only  avoided  a  like  disaster 
by  his  great  shrewdness  and  agility. 

At  one  o'clock  we  camped  on  the  banks  of  a  brook,  and 


102  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

our  fishers  immediately  got  their  gear  in  readiness  for 
trout.  Two  of  us  determined  on  a  bath  in  spite  of  mos 
quitoes  and  ice-water ;  and  while  a  portion  of  the  party 
were  playing  leap-frog  solitaire,  in  the  search  for  grasshop 
per  bait,  another  portion  landing  an  occasional  diminutive 
fish,  and  the  remainder  attempting  to  dry  their  tingling 
skins,  there  was  a  sudden  cry  of  "  How,  how !  "  across  the 
low  willow  thickets.  Indians,  with  vermilion  faces  and 
streaming  black  hair !  There  were  two  braves  and  squaws, 
mounted,  and  two  pappooses.  They  crossed  to  us  without 
ceremony,  shook  hands,  and  attempted  conversation,  which 
was  not  very  edifying  until  we  discovered  that  one  of  them 
understood  a  little  Spanish.  We  then  learned  that  they 
were  on  their  way  from  the  Blue  to  join  the  remainder  of 
their  tribe  on  the  head-water's  of  the  Grand ;  their  chief, 
Colorado,  was  at  Breckenridge,  and  they  thought  the  rivers 
could  be  forded.  One  of  the  men  —  who  wore,  singularly 
enough,  an  Austrian  military  coat  (from  Maximilian's 
army  ?)  —  possessed  some  tact  and  discretion.  He  pre 
vented  the  other  from  going  too  near  our  luggage,  and 
withdrew  with  him  to  a  little  distance  when  we  sat  down 
to  our  meal.  He  showed  a  little  curiosity  about  a  satchel 
of  mine ;  but  when  I  told  him  it  was  "  medicine,"  and 
made  certain  mysterious  signs,  he  seemed  satisfied.  The 
squaws  brought  their  shy  pappooses  to  look  at  us  —  beau 
tiful  beings,  all  of  them,  with  paint-smeared  faces,  and 
hideously  suggestive  hair  and  blankets.  Uncas  and  Cora, 
—  heroes  and  heroines  of  romance  ! 

Presently  another  horseman  appeared,  galloping  toward 
us  over  the  hills,  from  the  opposite  direction.  It  was  White, 
who,  to  our  great  joy,  had  a  sage-hen  at  his  saddle-bow,  and 
a  supply  of  antelope-venison  for  our  supper.  He,  too,  had 
crossed  a  corner  of  the  moss-agate  patch,  without  finding 
any  of  the  jewels.  Considerably  refreshed  by  the  bath  and 
by  one  delicious  trout  apiece,  (would  it  had  been  a  dozen !) 
we  pushed  forward,  entering  a  hilly  region,  where  dense 


THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK.        103 

tracts  of  woodland  alternated  with  fields  of  flowers.  The 
tracks  of  elk,  deer,  and  even  bear,  were  frequent,  but  much 
as  our  hunters  dashed  away  from  the  trail,  they  brought  us 
nothing.  After  some  miles,  we  found  ourselves  suddenly 
on  a  bluff,  overlooking  Roaring  Fork,  which  issued,  with 
many  a  snaky  twist,  from  a  stretch  of  pine  forest.  Into  this 
forest  went  the  trail,  so  obstructed  with  fallen  timber  that 
our  progress  was  an  unintermitted  series  of  leaps.  We 
outdid  all  the  performances  that  were  ever  made  with  bars 
in  the  circus-ring. 

On  emerging  from  this  wood  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
loveliest  meadow-park,  several  miles  long,  opening  before 
us  directly  to  the  foot  of  the  great  snowy  peak.  A  swift 
brook  sped  down  it,  under  bowery  thickets  and  past  clumps 
of  trees ;  the  turf  was  brilliantly  green  and  spangled  with 
flowers ;  low  hills  bounded  it  on  either  side,  the  forests  with 
which  they  were  covered  sending  out  irregular  capes,  and 
arms  embracing  bays  of  grass ;  and  over  the  sweet  pasto 
ral  seclusion  towered  the  Alpine  chain,  here  smitten  with 
gold  by  the  sinking  sun,  there  glooming  broad  and  blue 
under  the  shadows  of  thunder-clouds.  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  unexpected  than  the  change  from  aspen  woods 
and  silvery  hills  of  sage  to  this  green,  pine-enframed,  Ar 
cadian  landscape.  We  made  our  camp  for  the  night  in  a 
grove  of  trees,  which  our  huge  fire  of  pine-logs  illuminated 
with  magical  effect.  Moreover,  we  had  fresh  meat  for  the 
first  time,  couches  on  a  matting  of  pine  needles,  the  best 
of  pasturage  for  our  beasts,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
leaving  Empire,  enjoyed  a  feeling  of  comfort.  It  rained 
during  the  night,  but  the  trees  made  a  partial  shelter.  OUT 
day's  travel  could  not  have  been  less  than  thirty  miles. 

It  was  now  very  evident  that  the  pass  we  sought  lay  to 
the  right  of  the  high  peak,  and  that  the  Valley  of  the  Blue 
was  beyond  the  range.  The  majestic  mountain  has  no 
name.  It  is  very  near  the  centre  of  the  Middle  Park,  and 
its  summit  must  command  a  view  of  this  whole  inclosed 


104  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

region.  I  therefore  suggest  that  it  be  called  Park  Peak 
(rather  than  such  a  name  as  Cummings  or  Doolittle),  and 
—  if  no  one  has  any  objection  —  will  so  designate  it. 

We  soon  reached  the  head  of  the  meadow,  where  a  jungle 
of  willow-bushes,  threaded  by  a  net-work  of  streams,  lay 
between  us  and  the  mountain.  The  trail  was  wet  and 
boggy,  and  the  dripping  boughs  through  which  we  forced 
our  way,  wet  us  to  the  skin.  Then  ensued  a  horrible  scram 
ble,  which  lasted  for  nearly  two  miles.  We  either  floun 
dered  in  mud  in  the  bottom  of  a  glen,  climbed  over  piles 
of  fallen  timber,  or  crept  up  and  down  slippery,  crumbling 
staircases,  of  loose  soil.  In  such  places  our  pack-mules 
showed  a  wonderful  talent.  The  skill  with  which  they 
passed  between  trees,  leaped  logs,  and  steadied  themselves 
along  the  edge  of  ticklish  declivities,  without  disarranging 
their  packs,  could  never  be  imagined  by  one  who  had  not 
seen  it.  We  considered  these  two  miles  equal  to  ten  of 
good  road.  The  trail  gradually  improved,  and  we  entered 
a  region,  which  was  a  perfect  reproduction  of  the  moun 
tain-dells  of  Saxony.  Meadows  of  velvet  turf  lay  embedded 
in  tall,  dark  forests  of  fir,  which  stretched  up  the  slopes 
above  us  until  they  formed  a  fringe  against  the  sky.  At 
every  winding  of  the  valley,  I  looked,  involuntarily,  for  the 
old,  mossy  mill,  and  the  squares  of  bleaching  linen  on  the 
grass.  Snow-drifts  made  their  appearance  where  the  shade 
was  deepest,  and  the  few  aspens  and  alders  were  just  put 
ting  forth  their  leaves. 

This  part  of  the  Pass  was  so  beautiful,  that  we  reached 
the  summit  —  much  sooner  than  we  expected  —  almost 
with  regret.  We  had  not  risen  more  than  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  general  level  of  the  Park.  From  the  top  we 
looked  down  a  narrow,  winding  glen,  between  lofty  parapets 
of  rock,  and  beheld  mountains  in  the  distance,  dark  with 
shadow,  and  vanishing  in  clouds,  j  The  descent  was  steep, 
but  not  very  toilsome.  After  reaching  the  bed  of  the  glen, 
we  followed  it  downward  through  beds  of  grass  and  flowers, 


THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK.  105 

under  the  shade  of  castellated  rocks,  and  round  the  feet 
of  natural  ramparts,  until  it  opened  upon  wide  plains  of 
sage-bush,  which  formed  the  shelving  side  of  an  immense 
valley.  The  usual  line  of  cotton-wood  betrayed  a  stream, 
and  when  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  water,  its  muddy  tint 
—  the  sure  sign  of  gold-washing  —  showed  that  we  had 
found  the  Blue  River.  We  had  crossed  the  Ute  Pass,  as 
it  is  called  by  the  trappers,  and  are  among  the  first  white 
men  who  have  ever  traversed  it.  We  now  looked  on  Park 
Peak  from  the  west  side. 

Instead  of  descending  to  the  river,  our  trail  turned  south 
ward,  running  nearly  parallel  with  its  course,  near  the  top 
of  the  sloping  plane  which  connects  the  mountains  with  the 
valley.  The  sun  came  out,  the  clouds  lifted  and  rolled 
away,  and  one  of  the  most  remarkable  mountain  landscapes 
of  the  earth  was  revealed  to  our  view.  The  Valley  of  the 
Blue,  which,  for  a  length  of  thirty  miles,  with  a  breadth 
varying  from  five  to  ten,  lay  under  our  eyes,  wore  a  tint  of 
pearly  silver-gray,  upon  which  the  ripe  green  of  the  timber 
along  the  river,  and  the  scattered  gleams  of  water  seemed 
to  be  enamelled.  Opposite  to  us,  above  this  sage-color,  rose* 
huge  mountain-foundations,  where  the  grassy  openings  were 
pale,  the  forests  dark,  the  glens  and  gorges  filled  with 
shadow,  the  rocks  touched  with  lines  of  light  —  making  a 
chequered  effect  that  suggested  cultivation  and  old  settle 
ment.  Beyond  these  were  wilder  ridges,  all  forest ;  then 
bare  masses  of  rock,  streaked  with  snow,  and,  highest  of 
all,  bleak  snow-pyramids,  piercing  the  sky.  From  south  to 
north  stretched  the  sublime  wall  —  the  western  boundary 
of  the  Middle  Park ;  and  where  it  fell  away  toward  the 
canon  by  which  Grand  River  goes  forth  to  seek  the  Col 
orado,  there  was  a  vision  of  dim,  rosy  peaks,  a  hundred 
miles  distant.  In  breadth  of  effect  —  in  airy  depth  and 
expansion  —  in  simple  yet  most  majestic  outline,  and  in 
originality  yet  exquisite  harmony  of  color,  this  landscape  is 
unlike  anything  I  have  ever  seen.  I  feel  how  inadequate 


106  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

are  my  words  to  suggest  such  new  combinations  of  tints 
and  forms.  There  is  greater  vertical  grandeur  among  the 
Alps  :  here  it  is  the  vast  lateral  extent  which  impresses  you, 
together  with  the  atmospheric  effect  occasioned  by  great 
elevation  above  the  sea.  You  stand  on  the  plane  of  the 
Alpine  glaciers ;  a  new  vegetation  surrounds  you ;  a  darker 
sky  is  over  your  head ;  yet  the  grand  picture  upon  which 
you  look  is  complete  in  all  its  parts,  or,  if  any  element  is 
wanting,  its  absence  is  swallowed  up  in  the  majesty  that  is 
present 

"  If  Gifford  were  only  here ! "  said  Beard ;  and  did  not 
take  out  his  own  sketch-book. 

We  enjoyed  this  landscape  for  several  miles,  until  the 
hills,  reaching  across  the  valley,  formed  a  canon,  to  avoid 
which  we  crossed  spurs  which  shut  everything  but  the 
snowy  range.  The  base  of  Park  Peak,  on  our  right,  offered 
many  picturesque  features ;  but  I  will  not  attempt  to  de 
scribe  them.  Other  snowy  summits  appeared  before  us, 
overlooking  the  head  of  Blue  River  Valley ;  charming  val 
leys  opened  among  the  nearer  mountains  ;  yet  the  remem 
brance  of  what  we  had  seen  made  us  indifferent  to  them. 
In  the  afternoon  we  came  upon  several  lodges  of  Utes,  one 
of  which  I  entered,  not  without  misgivings.  The  occupant 
was  a  sharp,  shrewd  Indian,  who  wanted  to  trade  a  buck 
skin  for  much  more  powder  than  it  was  worth.  There  were 
but  two  men  at  home,  but  a  number  of  squaws  and  chil 
dren.  A  herd  of  rough  ponies  was  grazing  near.  We 
found  little  to  interest  us,  and  presently  left  Mr.  Low 
(Low,  the  poor  Indian,  as  the  people  here  say)  to  his 
own  devices. 

A  mile  or  two  further  we  came  to  a  swift  stream,  which 
we  supposed  to  be  Snake  River,  and  the  prospect  of  trout 
was  so  promising  that,  after  effecting  a  crossing,  we  en 
camped  for  the  night,  calculating  that  we  were  within  fif 
teen  miles  of  this  place.  Hunters  and  fishers  went  forth, 
while  the  artist  and  myself  tried  both  pencil  and  pen  with 


THE  UTE  PASS,  MIDDLE  PARK.        107 

little  effect.  We  agreed  that  we  were  demoralized  by  fa 
tigue,  and  that  lying  on  our  blankets  before  the  fire  was 
better  than  either  Art  or  Literature. 

Though  so  near  Breckenridge,  we  were  not  yet  out  of 
the  woods,  as  my  next  will  show. 


XIV. 

FINAL   ADVENTURES   IN   THE   MIDDLE   PARK. 

BUCKSKIN  JOB,  SOUTH  PARK,  July  3, 1866. 

WHEN  we  awoke  in  our  camp,  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
which  we  supposed  to  be  Snake,  yesterday  morning,  the 
ground  was  covered  with  a  white  frost,  and  the  water  re 
maining  in  our  tin  cups  was  turned  to  ice.  To  bathe  a  sun- 
blistered  face  on  such  a  morning,  is  a  torture  rather  than  a 
luxury  ;  yet  the  air  was  at  once  a  tonic,  a  stimulant,  and  a 
flavor.  The  peaks  across  the  valley  —  not  much  less  than 
fifteen  thousand  feet  in  height  —  flashed  in  rosy  splendor  ; 
the  dew  sprinkled  with  diamonds  the  silver  of  the  sage- 
fields  ;  the  meadow-larks  sang  joyously,  and  our  spirits  rose 
with  the  belief  that  the  uncertain  portion  of  our  journey 
was  nearly  over. 

A  ride  of  three  miles  up  the  valley  brought  us  to  another 
river  —  a  fuller  stream  than  the  last,  foaming  down  through 
a  wild  gap  in  the  mountains  on  our  left.  At  this  place  the 
Blue  receives  a  considerable  affluent  on  the  opposite  side — 
a  circumstance  which  told  us  precisely  where  we  were. 
The  stream  where  we  had  encamped  is  still  nameless ;  it 
was  the  Snake  which  we  had  now  reached.  We  forded  it 
with  some  difficulty,  the  water  rushing  over  our  saddles, 
and  followed  a  barely  discernible  trail  along  the  foot  of  the 
mountains.  The  Valley  of  the  Blue  became  narrow,  hemmed 
in  by  the  feet  of  spurs  from  the  main  chain.  The  bottom 
land  was  marshy  and  full  of  pools,  and  we  were  sometimes 
forced  to  climb  around  quagmires  and  fallen  timber,  at 
points  of  threatening  steepness.  Sometimes,  also,  a  slide 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK.       109 

of  rocks  had  come  down  from  above,  leaving  piles  over 
which  the  animals  must  slowly  and  cautiously  be  led.  The 
little  gray  coneys  sat  on  the  stones  above,  and  barked  at  us 
as  we  passed. 

It  is  rather  difficult  to  measure  distance  during  travel 
of  this  kind  ;  but  I  suppose  we  had  made  about  three  miles 
after  fording  Snake  River,  when  the  trail  —  or,  rather, 
what  was  left  of  it  —  terminated  at  the  Blue.  There  were 
signs  that  the  stream  had  been  crossed  here,  and  as  we  had 
been  looking  with  longing  eyes  at  the  pleasant  open  bot 
toms  on  the  other  side,  we  imagined  our  troubles  at  an  end. 
Mr.  McCandless  plunged  in,  his  mule  breasting  the  impet 
uous  current,  and,  after  being  carried  down  some  yards, 
succeeded  in  getting  out  on  the  other  bank.  Mr.  Byers 
followed,  and  then  the  pack-mule,  Peter ;  but,  on  reaching 
the  centre  of  the  stream  both  were  carried  away.  I  was 
watching  the  horse,  madly  endeavoring  to  swim  against  the 
current,  when  there  was  a  sudden  call  for  help.  The  drift- 
timber  had  made  a  raft  just  below,  the  force  of  the  stream 
set  directly  toward  it,  and  horse  and  rider  were  being 
drawn,  as  it  appeared,  to  inevitable  destruction.  Mr.  Sum- 
ner  sprang  into  the  water  and  caught  Mr.  Byers's  hand ; 
but  the  next  moment  he  was  out  of  his  depth,  and  barely 
succeeded  in  swimming  ashore. 

All  this  seemed  to  take  place  in  a  second.  The  river 
made  a  short  curve  around  a  little  tongue  of  land,  across 
which  we  sprang,  in  time  to  see  Mr.  Byers  catch  at  and 
hold  the  branch  of  a  drifted  tree,  in  passing.  In  another 
moment  he  had  extricated  himself  from  the  saddle.  White 
rushed  into  the  water  with  a  lariat,  and  the  danger  was 
over.  Horse  and  rider  got  out  separately,  without  much 
trouble,  although  the  latter  was  already  chilled  to  the  bones 
and  nearly  benumbed.  The  pack-mule,  with  all  our  luggage, 
was  completely  submerged,  and  we  should  probably  have 
lost  everything,  had  not  White  grasped  the  mule's  ear  at 
the  turn  of  the  river,  and  thus  assisted  the  beast  to  recover 


110  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

his  footing.  It  was  all  over  before  we  were  clearly  aware 
of  the  full  extent  of  the  danger  and  of  our  own  fears. 

When  the  wet  clothes  had  been  wrung  out,  and  the  wet 
pistols  fired,  we  set  forward,  compelled  to  follow  the  east 
blank  of  the  Blue,  with  no  trail.  We  had  the  choice  between 
mud-holes  and  fallen  timber,  or  a  steep  of  loose  gravel  and 
sliding  stones,  which  defied  us  to  get  a  firm  foothold. 
Thus  we  worked  our  way  along,  with  almost  incredible  la 
bor,  for  an  hour  or  more,  when  we  reached  an  overhanging 
rocky  wall,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  river  foamed  and  roared 
in  a  narrow  channel.  When  we  had  climbed  around  the 
rocks  and  reached  the  mountain  side  above,  a  fearful-look 
ing  slant  of  disintegrated  shale,  through  which  a  few  stunted 
aspen  bushes  grew,  lay  before  us.  One  more  degree  of 
steepness  would  have  made  the  pass  impossible.  The 
crumbled  rock  slid  from  under  our  feet,  and  rattled  in 
showers  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  info  the  water 
below ;  and  but  for  the  help  which  the  bushes  gave  us  in 
the  worst  places,  we  should  probably  have  followed.  Messrs. 
Byers  and  Davis,  who  were  in  advance,  seemed  at  times  to 
be  hanging  in  the  air.  In  the  midst  of  this  pass,  a  badger 
whisked  around  the  corner  of  a  rock,  tempting  one  of  the 
party  to  let  himself  down  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff  in  the 
hope  of  getting  a  shot ;  but  the  animal  was  safe  in  some 
hole  or  crevice. 

While  resting  among  the  roots  of  a  pine-tree,  which  en 
abled  me  also  to  support  my  pony,  I  descried  Mr.  McOand- 
less  riding  up  the  meadows  beyond  the  river,  with  a  mounted 
Indian  on  each  side  of  him.  I  noticed,  moreover,  that  the 
latter  kept  pace  with  him,  and  took  pains  to  keep  him  be 
tween  them.  As  they  were  Utes,  there  was  no  trouble  to 
be  feared,  and  we  supposed  they  were  guiding  him  toward 
Breckenridge.  Beyond  this  perilous  corner  of  the  moun 
tain  we  found  a  faint  trail,  with  a  promise  of  better  travel 
ahead.  Mr.  Beard  and  White  were  in  the  rear,  and  it  was 
amusing  to  watch  them  follow  us,  clinging  for  life  to  the 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK.       Ill 

bushes  and  roots,  while  their  animals,  with  more  than  hu 
man  cunning,  picked  their  way  step  by  step,  through  the 
sliding  fragments. 

A  mile  or  two  more,  and  a  broad  valley  opened  on  our 
left.  A  very  muddy  stream  —  which  could  be  none  other 
than  Swan  River  —  came  down  it  to  join  the  Blue.  Mr. 
McCandless  and  one  of  the  Indians  here  rode  down  to  the 
opposite  bank  and  hailed  us.  The  latter  was  the  famous 
Ute  chief,  Colorado  ;  he  said  we  could  now  either  ford  the 
Blue,  or  take  a  good  trail  to  Breckenridge  on  our  side  of 
the  river.  We  chose  the  latter,  and  presently  came  in  sight 
of  Delaware  Flats  —  a  collection  of  log-cabins,  across  the 
open  valley.  Leaving  them  to  the  left,  we  struck  toward 
another  settlement  called  Buffalo  Flats ;  both  places  are 
inhabited  by  miners  engaged  in  gulch  washing.  The  cattle 
pasturing  on  the  grassy  bottoms  were  a  welcome  sight,  after 
five  days  of  savage  Nature.  I  greeted  a  young  fellow, 
herding  mules  on  horseback,  with  a  very  superfluous  feel 
ing  of  friendship ;  for  he  made  a  short,  surly  answer,  and 
rode  away. 

Being  now  but  four  miles  from  Breckenridge,  we  spurred 
our  weary  animals  forward,  taking  a  trail  which  led  for  a 
long  distance  through  a  burned  forest.  It  was  scenery  of 
the  most  hideous  character.  Tens  of  thousands  of  charred 
black  poles,  striped  with  white  where  the  bark  had  sprung 
off,  made  a  wilderness  of  desolation  which  was  worse  than 
a  desert.  The  boughs  had  been  almost  entirely  consumed ; 
the  sunshine  and  the  blue  of  the  sky  were  split  into  a  myr 
iad  of  parallel  slices,  which  fatigued  and  distracted  the  eye, 
until  one  almost  became  giddy  in  riding  through.  I  cannot 
recall  any  phase  of  mundane  scenery  so  disagreeable  as 
this. 

Finally  the  wood  came  to  an  end,  and  green  meadows 
and  snowy  peaks  refreshed  our  eyes.  Over  ditches,  heaps 
of  stone  and  gravel,  and  all  the  usual  debris  of  gulch-min 
ing,  we  rode  toward  some  cabins  which  beckoned  to  us 


112  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

through  scattered  clumps  of  pine.  A  flag-staff,  with  some 
thing  white  at  half-mast ;  canvas-covered  wagons  in  the 
shade ;  a  long  street  of  log-houses ;  signs  of  "  Boarding," 
"  Miner's  Home,"  and  "  Saloon,"  and  a  motley  group  of 
rough  individuals,  among  whom  we  detected  the  beard  of 
our  parted  comrade  and  the  blanket  of  the  chief —  such 
was  Breckenridge ! 

The  place  dates  from  1860  —  yet?  of  the  five  thousand 
miners  who  flocked  to  this  part  of  the  Middle  Park  in  that 
year,  probably  not  more  than  five  hundred  remain.  At 
present  there  is  a  slight  increase  of  life.  Some  new  cabins 
are  going  up,  and  for  some  distance  beyond  the  limits  of 
building  one  sees  lots  staked  out,  and  signs  displayed, — 

"  Preempted  by ."    At  the  first  house  we  reached, 

we  found  a  long  table  set  for  dinner,  and  a  barrel  of  beer 
on  tap,  which  had  come  over  the  snowy  range  from  Mont 
gomery  the  previous  day.  The  host,  Mr.  Sutherland,  sus 
pected  our  impatient  hunger,  and  only  delayed  the  meal 
long  enough  to  add  the  unexpected  delicacy  of  oyster  soup. 
Then,  taking  the  bugle  with  which  he  blew  the  signal  for 
the  immortal  Light  Brigade  to  charge  at  Balaklava,  he 
made  the  notes  of  "  Peas  upon  a  trencher "  ring  over  the 
shanties  of  Breckenridge.  Since  that  splendid  Crimean 
episode,  Mr.  Sutherland  and  his  bugle  have  done  loyal  ser 
vice  in  a  Colorado  regiment.  I  was  glad  of  the  chance 
which  made  us  almost  the  first  guests  of  his  new  establish 
ment  —  especially  as  his  bounty  in  providing  equals  his 
gallantry  in  fighting. 

In  strolling  up  the  street,  after  dinner,  I  discovered  that 
the  apparent  flag  of  truce  at  half-mast  was  in  reality  a  na 
tional  ensign,  out  of  which  the  mountain  rains  had  washed 
every  particle  of  color.  The  Stars  and  Stripes  were  only 
to  be  distinguished  by  the  seams.  There  was  comical  cause 
of  mourning ;  the  bully  of  Breckenridge  —  a  German  gro 
cer  —  had  been  whipped,  the  day  before,  by  the  bully  of 
Buffalo  Flats  !  The  flag-staff  is  planted  in  front  of  a  log 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK.       113 

court-house.  While  I  was  gazing  upon  the  emblem  of 
defeat  and  regret,  L  noticed  two  individuals  entering  the 
building.  One  was  middle-aged,  and  carried  a  book  under 
his  arm ;  he  wore  "  store  clothes."  The  other,  a  lively 
young  fellow,  with  a  moustache,  sported  a  flannel  shirt. 
The  latter  reappeared  on  the  balcony,  in  a  moment,  and 
proclaimed  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  Oh  yes !  Oh  yes !  The  Honorable  Probate  Court  is  now 
in  session ! " 

Thereupon  he  withdrew.  The  announcement  produced 
no  effect,  for  he  immediately  came  forth  again,  and  cried, — 

"  Oh  yes  !  Oh  yes !  The  Honorable  Probate  Court  is  now 
adjourned ! " 

I  waited,  to  see  the  Honorable  Probate  Court  come  forth, 
with  the  book  under  his  arm  ;  but,  instead  of  that,  the  lively 
young  man  made  his  appearance  for  the  third  time,  with  a 
new  announcement,  — 

"  Oh  yes  !  Oh  yes !  The  Honorable  Commissioners'  Court 
is  now  in  session ! " 

How  many  other  Courts  were  represented  by  these  two 
individuals,  I  am  unable  to  say  ;  but  the  rapidity  and  ease 
with  which  the  sessions  were  held  gave  me  a  cheerful  im 
pression  of  the  primitive  simplicity  and  peace  of  the  pop 
ulation.  To  be  sure,  the  flag  at  half-mast  hinted  of  other 
customs  ;  yet  these  may  not  be  incompatible  with  an  idyllic 
state  of  society. 

We  discovered  a  hotel  —  or  its  equivalent  —  kept  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Silverthorn,  who  welcomed  us  like  old  friends. 
The  walls  of  their  large  cabin  were  covered  with  newspa 
pers,  and  presented  a  variety  of  advertisements  and  local 
news,  from  New  Hampshire  to  Salt  Lake.  If  the  colored 
lithographs  on  the  wall  were  doubtful  specimens  of  art, 
there  were  good  indications  of  literature  on  the  table.  The 
kind  hostess  promised  us  beds,  —  real  beds,  with  sheets  and 
pillows,  —  and  the  good  host  would  have  taken  me  to  any 
number  of  lodes  and  gulch-washings,  if  I  had  not  been 
8 


114  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

almost  too  sore  to  bend  a  joint.  I  barely  succeeded  in 
going  far  enough  to  inspect  a  patch  of  timothy  grass,  grown 
from  the  wild  seed  of  the  mountains.  It  is  a  slight  experi 
ment,  but  enough  to  show  what  may  be  made  of  those  por 
tions  of  the  Middle  Park  which  are  too  cold  for  grain. 
The  residents  of  the  place  profess  to  be  delighted  with  the 
climate,  although  there  is  no  month  in  the  year  without 
frost,  and  the  winter  snow  is  frequently  three  or  four  feet 
in  depth.  They  have  very  little  sickness  of  any  kind,  and 
recover  from  wounds  or  hardships  with  a  rapidity  unknown 
elsewhere.  I  was  informed  that  the  Honorable  Probate 
and  Commissioners'  Court  once  tumbled  down  a  fearful 
precipice,  and  was  picked  up  a  mass  of  fractures  and  dis 
locations  —  yet  here  he  was,  good  for  several  sessions  a 
day! 

Our  friends,  Byers  and  Sumner,  were  so  chilled  to  the 
marrow  by  their  adventure  in  the  Blue  River,  that  neither 
the  subsequent  ride,  nor  dinner,  nor  the  hot  noonday  sun, 
could  warm  their  benumbed  bodies.  They  therefore  built 
a  fire  in  the  adjoining  wood,  and  lay  beside  it  nearly  all  the 
afternoon.  I  would  gladly  have  joined  them,  but  for  the 
duty  of  recording  our  journey,  and  the  task  which  awaited 
me  in  the  evening.  The  court-house,  to  my  surprise,  was 
filled  with  an  attentive  and  intelligent  audience,  and  I  re 
gretted  that  I  was  unable  to  comply  with  their  request  that 
I  should  recite  Mrs.  Norton's  poem  of  "  Bingen." 

There  had  been  some  doubt  concerning  the  practicability 
of  the  pass  across  the  main  chain  to  Montgomery,  which  is 
in  the  South  Park,  on  the  head-waters  of  the  South  Platte ; 
but  in  the  afternoon  Mr.  Matthews  arrived,  having  ridden 
from  Buckskin  Joe  to  pilot  us  over.  This  is  called,  I  be 
lieve,  the  Hoosier  Pass ;  a  little  to  the  east  of  it  is  the  Tarry- 
all  Pass,  from  Hamilton  to  Breckenridge,  which  is  traversed 
by  vehicles,  even  during  the  winter.  There  is  also  a  direct 
trail  from  Breckenridge  to  Georgetown,  near  the  head  of 
Snake  River.  Without  doubt  other  and  probably  better 


FINAL  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  MIDDLE  PARK.       115 

points  for  crossing  the  mountains  will  be  found,  when  they 
are  more  thoroughly  explored. 

Mrs.  Silverthorn  kept  her  promise.  When  the  artist  and 
myself  found  ourselves  stretched  out  in  a  broad  feather 
bed,  with  something  softer  than  boots  under  our  heads,  we 
lay  awake  for  a  long  time  in  delicious  rest,  unable  to  sleep 
from  the  luxury  of  knowing  what  a  perfect  sleep  awaited 
us.  Every  jarred  bone  and  bruised  muscle  claimed  its  own 
particular  sensation  of  relief,  and  I  doubted,  at  last,  whether 
unconsciousness  was  better  than  such  wide-awake  fulness 
of  rest. 

I  shall  always  retain  a  very  pleasant  recollection  of 
Breckenridge,  and  shall  henceforth  associate  its  name  with 
the  loyal  divine,  not  the  traitor  politician. 


XV. 

TWO    ROCKY   MOUNTAIN   PASSES. 

ORO  CITY,  COLORADO,  July  4, 1866. 

WE  deserved  no  credit  for  early  rising  at  Breckenridge, 
The  room  wherein  we  slept  was  also  a  family-room,  dining- 
room,  and  parlor,  and  the  ladies  of  the  house  could  not 
properly  set  the  breakfast-table  in  the  presence  of  four  gen- 
.  tlemen  in  shirts.  So  we  issued  forth  early,  to  find  a  white 
frost  on  the  meadows  and  a  golden  glitter  of  snow  all 
around  the  brightest  of  morning  skies.  Among  the  Alps, 
such  a  morning  is  a  rare  godsend ;  here,  it  is  almost  a 
matter  of  course.  Whatever  effect  the  climate  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  region  may  have  upon  the  permanent  settlers, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  for  travellers  it  is  one  of  the  most 
favorable  in  the  world.  It  takes  fat  from  the  corpulent 
and  gives  it  to  the  lean  ;  it  strengthens  delicate  lungs,  and 
paints  pallid  faces  with  color ;  and  in  spite  of  "  thin  air  and 
alkali  water,"  it  invigorates  every  function  of  the  system. 
I  doubt  whether  any  of  us,  at  home,  could  have  ventured 
on  wading  in  the  snow,  being  ducked  in  ice-water,  and 
camping  on  the  damp  earth  with  the  same  impunity. 

We  still  followed  up  the  Blue  River,  now  so  diminished 
that  its  clear,  swift  waters  had  no  power  to  stop  our  prog- 
__  ress.  After  passing  through  dilapidated  forests  of  fir  and 
pine  for  an  hour,  the  trail  entered  a  sloping  mountain 
meadow,  several  miles  long,  with  a  vista  of  shining  peaks 
at  either  end.  New  flowers  —  turquoise-blue,  purple,  and 
yellow  —  sprinkled  the  turf;  the  air  was  filled  with  resin 
ous  odors,  ajad  the  sunshine  had  just  sufficient  power  to 


TWO  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  PASSES.  117 

take  the  icy  edge  off  the  air  and  make  it  fresh  and  inspir 
ing.  The  trail,  for  the  most  part,  was  dry  and  firm,  and 
our  travel  became  something  more  of  a  luxury  than  it  had 
been  during  the  previous  days. 

Near  the  head  of  the  valley,  immediately  under  the 
snowy  ridge,  there  was  a  great  tract  which  the  gold-washers 
had  gone  over  with  unsparing  hand.  It  must  have  been 
a  rich  placer,  for  two  or  three  inhabited  cabins  remain,  and 
there  were  signs  of  recent  labor.  The  snow-drifts  lay  thick 
all  around,  the  grass  was  just  beginning  to  shoot,  and  the 
three-months'  summer  of  the  higher  ranges,  during  which 
only  gold-washing  can  be  carried  on,  had  barely  made  its 
appearance.  The  residents  were  absent  (probably  pros 
pecting),  and  there  was  no  living  creature  to  be  seen,  ex 
cept  a  forlorn  donkey. 

Beyond  this  spot  we  came  unexpectedly  upon  the  sum 
mit  of  the  pass.  Our  ascent  from  Breckenridge  had  been 
very  gradual,  and  we  had  not  guessed  the  great  elevation 
of  the  latter  place  above  the  sea-level.  This  route  hasn 
been  surveyed,  and  our  guide,  Mr.  Matthews,  pointed  out 
the  stakes  from  time  to  time  with  great  satisfaction.  The"" 
top  of  the  pass  is  a  little  below  the  timber  line,  and  the 
stake  there  is  marked  "  11,000  feet."  The  average  ascent 
on  the  south  side  is  ninety  feet  to  the  mile,  while  the  de 
scent  on  the  north  only  averages  seventy  feet.  The  build 
ing  of  a  railroad  would  not  be  attended  with  the  slightest 
difficulty.  This  pass,  dividing  the  Middle  from  the  South 
Park,  is,  as  I  have  explained  in  a  former  letter,  also  the 
water-shed  between  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific.  The  grand 
oif-shoots  of  the  main  chain  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  so 
numerous  and  so  lofty,  are  apt  to  lead  the  eye  astray,  and 
give  an  impression  of  difficulties,  which  disappear  on  a 
closer  acquaintance  with  the  region.  The  first  entrance  of 
the  Pacific  Railroad  into  the  mountains  will  be  found,  I 
suspect,  quite  as  difficult  as  the  passage  of  the  dividing 
ridge. 


118  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

We  halted  on  the  summit,  to  enjoy  the  narrow  but  very 
striking  views  into  the  opposite  Parks.  Northward,  we 
looked  down  the  long  green  meadow,  with  its  inclosing 
slopes  of  forest,  to  a  line  of  snow-clad  peaks  in  the  middle 
distance,  and  then  a  higher  and  fainter  line,  rosily  flushed, 
a  hundred  miles  away  —  the  northern  wall  of  the  Park. 
Southward,  the  valley  of  the  Platte,  a  deep  gray-green 
trough,  curving  out  of  sight  among  the  lower  ranges,  bore 
a  striking  resemblance  to  the  upper  valley  of  the  Saco,  as 
you  look  upon  it  from  Mount  Willard.  Beyond  it,  the  in 
creasing  dimness  of  each  line  of  mountains  told  of  broad, 
invisible  plains  between ;  and  the  farther  peaks,  scarcely 
to  be  detached  from  the  air,  were  the  merest  Alpine  phan 
toms.  Directly  to  the  west  of  us,  however,  rose  a  knot  of 
tremendous  snowy  steeps,  crowned  by  a  white,  unbroken 
cone.  This  is  Mount  Lincoln,  believed  to  be  the  highest 
point  in  Colorado.  The  estimates  vary  between  fifteen  and 
eighteen  thousand  feet ;  but  the  most  trustworthy  measure 
ment  —  which  also  corresponds  with  its  apparent  elevation 
above  the  pass  —  is  sixteen  thousand  six  hundred  feet. 
Later  in  the  season,  it  can  be  ascended  without  much  dif 
ficulty. 

It  is  fortunate  that  this  prominent  summit  is  so  appro 
priately  named.  It  is  the  central  point  from  which  at  least 
four  snowy  ranges  radiate,  is  one  thousand  feet  higher  than 
any  peak  which  has  yet  been  measured,  and  the  view  from 
its  snowy  apex  can  hardly  be  drawn  with  a  shorter  radius 
than  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Although  not  standing 
alone  like  the  volcanic  cones  of  Oregon,  but  in  the  midst 
of  a  sublime  Alpine  world,  it  yet  asserts  its  supremacy,  and 
its  huge,  wintry  buttresses  form  a  prominent  feature  in  the 
landscapes  of  the  South  Park. 

We  now  turned  to  the  right,  in  order  to  visit  Mont 
gomery,  which  lies  on  the  very  head-waters  of  the  South 
Platte,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Lincoln,  whose  rocky  sides  are 
veined  with  the  richest  ores.  In  less  than  a  mile  after 


TWO  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  PASSES.  119 

leaving  the  top  of  the  pass,  we  saw  the  neat  little  town 
lying  below  us,  and  could  detect  the  signs  of  mining  all 
around  and  above  it.  I  had  a  surfeit  of  mining  plans  and 
prospects  in  Central  City,  and  will  only  say  that  the  people 
of  Montgomery  are  just  as  sanguine  as  those  of  the  former 
place,  and  their  ores,  so  far  as  I  could  judge  from  speci 
mens,  are  just  as  rich  and  abundant.  It  would  interest 
those  who  own  stock  in  the  North  Star,  the  Pioneer,  and 
other  companies,  if  I  should .  minutely  describe  their  sepa 
rate  lodes ;  but  most  of  my  readers,  I  presume,  will  be 
satisfied  with  the  general  statement  that  the  wealth  of 
Colorado  has  not  been,  and  cannot  easily  be,  exaggerated. 

Descending  a  long  and  toilsome  declivity  to  the  town, 
we  drew  up  at  the  post-office.  Friendly  hands  took  charge 
of  our  animals,  and  a  dinner  was  promised  in  commemora 
tion  of  our  return  to  the  Atlantic  side  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains.  Mr.  Valiton,  I  am  glad  to  say,  has  become  a  thor 
ough  American  in  everything  but  his  knowledge  of  cookery ; 
and  the  repast  he  furnished  us,  although  commencing  with 
oyster  soup  and  ending  with  peaches,  bore  no  resemblance 
to  the  dreary  fare  served  up  in  most  of  our  hotels.  When 
it  was  over,  and  we  were  enjoying  the  pipe  of  peace  in  the 
sun,  the  intelligent  company  of  Mr.  Rey,  formerly  Consul 
of  France  at  Montevideo,  and  several  American  gentlemen, 
gave  an  air  of  refinement  and  ancient  culture  to  the  place. 
It  required  an  effort  to  recall  the  fact  that  I  was  in  the 
wildest  nook,  the  very  heart,  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Montgomery,  like  Breckenridge,  is  a  deserted  town.  It 
once  had  a  population  of  three  thousand,  and  now  numbers 
three  or  four  hundred.  But  as  the  cabins  of  those  who  left 
speedily  became  the  firewood  of  those  who  remained,  there 
are  no  apparent  signs  of  decay.  On  the  contrary,  the  place 
seems  to  be  growing  a  little,  and  as  soon  as  the  "  new  proc 
ess"  is  satisfactorily  ascertained,  it  will  shoot  up  into 
permanent  importance.  We  had  only  time  to  make  our 
nooning  there,  my  place  of  destination  being  Buckskin  Joe, 
eight  miles  further. 


120  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

We  rode  five  miles  down  the  South  Platte,  then  climbed 
over  one  of  the  many  insteps  of  Mount  Lincoln,  into  a  nar 
rower  valley,  running  westward  along  the  base.  Near  its 
head,  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  lies  the  town  of  the 
lovely  name  —  a  somewhat  larger  and  more  active  place 
than  Montgomery.  The  people,  for  the  space  of  two  or 
three  years,  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  change  the  name 
to  "  Laurette,"  which  is  slightly  better ;  but  they  failed 
completely,  and  it  will  probably  be  Buckskin  Joe  to  the 
end  of  time.  At  least,  it  is  not  a  "  City  "  —  which,  in  Col 
orado,  is  quite  an  honorable  distinction.  There  are  worse 
names  in  California  than  this,  and  worse  places.  If  I  failed 
to  find  a  blacksmith,  and  my  barefooted  pony  must  go 
unshod,  we  had  a  carpeted  room  at  the  Pacific  House,  an 
audience  of  near  a  hundred  collected  in  the  evening,  and 
everything  was  done  to  make  my  visit  comfortable.  These 
remote,  outlying  mining  communities  have  made  a  most 
agreeable  impression  upon  every  member  of  our  party. 
The  horde  of  more  or  less  ignorant  adventurers  having 
drifted  away  to  Montana  and  Idaho,  those  who  remain  are 
for  the  most  part  men  of  education  and  natural  refinement, 
and  their  hospitality  is  a  favor  in  a  double  sense. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a  dismal  fall  of  mingled  s,now 
and  rain,  and  I  found  a  fire  necessary  for  comfort.  The 
bare  slopes  around  the  village  were  white  for  an  hour* after 
sunrise.  We  were  here  joined  by  Mr.  Thomas,  of  Chicago, 
who  came  from  Denver  with  a  mule-team,  and  brought  us 
late  news  from  the  world  and  letters  from  home.  This 
morning  we  took  leave  of  White,  who  started  for  Empire 
with  our  faithful  pack-mules.  The  latter  were  a  plague  at 
times,  with  all  their  service,  and  we  are  not  sorry  to  be  rid 
of  them ;  but  I  miss  White's  honest  blue  eyes. 

There  are  two  roads  from  Buckskin  Joe  to  this  place, 
one  practicable  only  in  midsummer  for  horses,  directly 
over  a  lofty  spur  of  the  snowy  range ;  the  other  a  rough 
wagon-trail,  which  goes  down  the  Platte  twelve  or  fifteen 


TWO  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  PASSES.  121 

miles  before  crossing  to  the  Arkansas  Valley.  Mr.  Beard, 
exulting  at  his  escape  from  the  saddle,  took  the  mule  wagon 
with  Mr.  Sumner;  the  rest  of  us  determined  to  try  the 
shorter  and  more  difficult  pass.  Mr.  Willet,  of  Buckskin 
Joe,  offered  his  services  as  guide,  promising  to  pilot  us 
safely  over,  although  no  horses  had  yet  crossed  this  season. 
So,  wearing  the  scarlet  "  Matthews  tie,"  as  a  memento  of 
that  gentleman's  kindness,  we  bade  good-by  to  Buckskin 
Joe,  without  visiting  the  abundant  "  pay-streaks "  in  its 
neighborhood. 

One  evidence  of  the  richness  of  the  locality  met  us,  how 
ever,  at  the  outset.  We  rode  along  the  borders  of  a  nar 
row  gulch  —  now  all  stones  and  gravel  —  out  of  which  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars  were  washed  in  18*60.  Thence, 
two  miles  over  a  rough,  timbered  mountain  brought  us  to 
Mosquito,  another  mining  village  of  a  hundred  inhabitants, 
at  the  mouth  of  a  narrow,  winding  gorge,  issuing  out  of 
snow-streaked  heights  to  the  southward.  Into  this  gorge 
led  the  trail,  difficult  in  places,  but  not  to  be  compared  to 
the  swamps  and  rocky  ladders  of  the  Middle  Park.  Mr. 
Willet  walked  briskly  in  advance,  entertaining  us  with  sto 
ries  of  his  winter  journeys  on  foot  over  the  pass,  carrying 
the  weekly  mail.  He  did  not  appear  to  be  troubled  by  the 
rarity  of  the  atmosphere,  of  which  I  was  very  conscious, 
even  in  the  saddle. 

The  ascent  was  quite  gradual,  yet  we  soon  passed  the 
timber  line,  and  the  fields  of  snow  crept  down  the  steeps 
of  grass  and  rock,  ever  nearer,  feeding  the  torrent  which 
rushed  through  the  gorge.  On  the  left  towered  an  appar 
ently  inacc:ssible  mass  of  dark-red  rock,  to  the  height  of 
two  thousand  feet ;  a  field  of  snow  in  front,  shining  against 
the  sky,  was  equally  impassable,  and  the  steep  on  our  left 
must  be  scaled.  We  dismounted,  and  commenced  the  heart 
breaking  task.  Climbing  a  dozen  steps  at  a  time,  and  then 
halting  to  recover  breath,  we  slowly  toiled  upward,  around 
a  great  slant  of  melting  snow,  which  had  lodged  under  the 


122  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

cornice  of  the  mountain.  I  could  take  no  note  of  the  won 
derful  scenery  which  opened  and  widened  under  us,  for 
every  pulse  throbbed  as  if  ready  to  burst,  my  eyes  were 
dim  and  my  head  giddy  in  the  endeavor  to  fill  my  collapsed 
lungs.  The  pony  climbed  faithfully  at  my  side,  and  more 
than  once  I  should  have  fallen  but  for  his  supporting  neck. 

We  circumscaled  the  snow  at  last,  and  came  over  the 
sharp  crest  upon  an  upland  a  mile  or  two  long,  bounded 
by  the  highest  summits.  It  was  a  bleak,  Arctic  landscape ; 
where  the  snow  had  melted  there  were  patches  of  brick- 
colored  rock  and  brown  grass,  or  pools  of  dull,  chilly  water. 
The  great  cliffs  across  the  gorge  cut  off  the  distant  moun 
tains  and  valleys  from  view ;  we  were  alone  in  an  upper 
world  as  bleak  as  that  on  the  Norwegian  fjelds.  The  sum 
mit-ridge  we  were  to  cross  lay  to  the  southward,  but  we 
could  detect  no  way  to  reach  it  without  crossing  broad  and 
apparently  dangerous  drifts.  Mr.  Willet,  however,  who 
had  frequently  made  the  journey  in  storm  and  mist, 
marched  on  with  a  confident  air,  leading  us  across  the 
table-land,  up  a  stony  angle  of  the  mountain,  with  snow- 
filled  ravines  on  either  side,  until  we  reached  a  point  where 
it  was  necessary  to  dismount  for  the  last  climb. 

This  was  the  toughest  work  of  all.  The  trail  became  a 
rocky  staircase,  crossed  by  drifts  thirty  or  forty  feet  in 
depth,  where,  after  walking  firmly  on  the  surface  for  a  few 
yards,  man  and  horse  would  sink  down  unexpectedly  and 
flounder  in  the  melting  snow.  In  those  lofty  regions  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  getting  a  "  second  wind  "  —  every  step 
is  like  a  blow  which  knocks  the  breath  out  of  one's  body. 
I  was  conscious  of  a  dry,  disagreeable,  tingling  sensation 
in  the  lungs,  which  the  most  rapid,  open-mouthed  inhala 
tion  of  air  could  not  allay.  At  every  tenth  step  we  were 
forced  to  pause,  overcome  by  what  I  may  call  respiratory 
fatigue.  The  air,  nevertheless,  was  deliciously  pure  and 
bracing,  and  none  of  us  experienced  any  nausea,  bleeding 
at  the  nose,  or  dimness  of  vision,  such  as  great  altitudes 


TWO  KOCKY  MOUNTAIN  PASSES.  123 

frequently  produce.  When  we  stood  still,  the  physical  dis 
comfort  soon  passed  away.  The  ledges  of  naked  red  rocks 
increased  as  we  climbed;  the  dark-blue  sky  sank  lower 
behind  the  crest ;  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we 
stood  upon  the  summit  of  the  pass. 

Our  elevation  above  the  sea-level  could  not  have  been 
much  less  than  thirteen  thousand  feet.  The  timber  line 
was  far  below  us  ;  near  at  hand  we  were  surrounded  by  a 
desolation  of  snow  and  naked  rock.  Mount  Lincoln,  on 
the  north,  gathered  together  the  white  folds  of  the  separat 
ing  mountain  ranges,  and  set  his  supreme  pyramid  over 
them ;  while  far  to  the  southeast,  where  the  sage-plains  of 
the  South  Park  stretch  for  a  hundred  miles,  all  features 
were  lost  in  a  hot  purple  mist.  Before  us,  however,  lay  the 
crowning  grandeur.  The  ridge  upon  which  we  stood  slid 
down,  like  the  roof  of  a  house,  to  the  valley  of  the  Upper 
Arkansas,  which  we  could  trace  to  the  very  fountain-head 
of  the  river,  its  pine  groves  and  long  meandering  lines  of 
cotton-wood  drawn  upon  a  field  of  pearly  gray-green.  Start 
ing  from  Mount  Lincoln,  the  eye  followed  the  central  chain 
—  the  backbone  of  the  continent  —  in  a  wide  semicircle 
around  the  head  of  the  valley  until  it  faced  us  on  the  oppo 
site  side,  and  then  kept  on  its  course  southward,  on  and 
ever  on,  slowly  fading  into  air  —  a  hundred  miles  of  eter 
nal  snow  !  Beyond  the  Arkansas  Valley  (where  there  is  a 
pass  considerably  below  the  timber  line)  glimmered,  as  if 
out  of  blue  air,' the  rosy  snow  of  other  and  farther  ranges. 
Westward,  seventy  miles  distant,  stood  the  lonely  Sopris 
Peak,  higher  than  Mont  Blanc. 

New  landscapes  are  often  best  described  by  comparison 
with  others  that  are  known  ;  but  I  know  not  where  to  turn 
for  any  mountain  view  at  all  resembling  this  in  wondrous 
breadth  and  extent  —  in  the  singular  combination  of  sub 
dued  coloring  with  great  variety  of  form.  It  is  at  once 
simple,  sublime,  and  boundless.  With  a  very  clear  atmos 
phere,  the  effect  might  be  different ;  as  we  saw  it,  the  far- 


124  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

thest  peaks  and  ranges  melted  insensibly  out  of  the  line  of 
vision,  suggesting  almost  incredible  distances.  There  were 
no  glaciers,  thrusting  down  their  wedges  between  the  for 
ests  ;  no  great  upper  plateaus  of  impacted  snow,  pouring 
their  cataracts  from  rocky  walls,  as  in  the  Alps.  The  snow- 
line,  though  broken  by  ravines,  was  quite  uniform ;  but  the 
snows  were  flushed  with  such  exquisite  color,  and  cut  the 
sky  with  such  endless  variety  of  outline,  that  they  substi 
tuted  a  beauty  of  another  and  rarer  kind.  This,  and  the 
view  of  the  Blue  River  Valley,  in  the  Middle  Park,  are 
representative  landscapes ;  and  they  alone  are  worth  a  jour 
ney  across  the  Plains. 

We  celebrated  the  day  with  none  but  the  most  loyal 
and  patriotic  sentiments.  Our  toasts  were  few,  for  there 
was  little  of  the  material  out  of  which  they  grow;  our 
speeches  short,  for  breath  was  a  scarce  commodity  ;  but  we 
duly  remembered  the  American  Eagle,  and  magnified  the 
shadow  of  his  wings.  There  has  been  no  loftier  celebra 
tion  this  day  in  the  United  States,  I  am  sure. 

It  was  impossible  to  mount  our  horses  until  a  certain 
point,  nearly  two  thousand  feet  below  us,  had  been  reached. 
There  was  no  snow  on  the  southern  slope ;  but  a  zigzag, 
headlong  path  over  bare  stones  (among  which  Mr.  Byers 
saw  constant  indications  of  gold)  for  two  miles  or  more, 
and  we  reached  the  bottom  with  trembling  knees  and  drip 
ping  faces.  After  this  the  path  gradually  fell  into  one  of 
the  lateral  glens  which  debouch  into  the  Arkansas  Valley, 
and  we  pushed  merrily  on  through  pine  groves  and  over 
green  meadows,  stung  by  the  gadfly  of  hunger.  Mr. 
Willet  insisted  on  taking  us  out  of  the  direct  path  to  see 
the  evidences  of  gold-washing  in  California  Gulch.  We 
objected,  preferring  to  see  a  dinner;  but  he  was  our  guide, 
and  he  had  his  way.  The  obdurate  man  made  us  ride 
along  a  mile  of  hideous  gravel-pits  and  piles  of  dirt,  smack 
ing  his  lips  over  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars 
which  had  been  dug  out  of  them,  while  every  one  of  us 


TWO  ROCKY  MOUNTAIN  PASSES.  125 

was  suffering  indescribable  pangs.  What  was  it  to  us  that 
men  are  even  now  washing  out  one  hundred  dollars  a 
day? 

Log-cabins  made  their  appearance  at  last,  then  miners, 
then  more  log-cabins,  then  a  street  with  several  saloons, 
eating-houses,  and  corrals,  —  and  that  was  Oro  City.  The 
place  did  not  promise  much,  I  must  confess ;  but  one  must 
never  judge  from  the  outside  in  Colorado.  What  we  found 
I  will  relate  in  my  next. 


XVI. 

THE  ARKANSAS  VALLEY  AND  THE  TWIN  LAKES. 

SALT  WORKS,  SOUTH  PARK,  July  6, 1866. 

I  SAID  we  were  hungry  on  arriving  at  Oro  City,  but  the 
word  gives  no  description  of  our  sensations.  After  climb 
ing  over  a  crest  only  a  few  hundred  feet  lower  than  the 
Swiss  Jungfrau,  we  descended  to  the  level  of  human  life 
with  a  profound  interest  in  the  signs  of  "  Boarding  "  and 
"  Miners'  Homes,"  which  greeted  us  on  entering  the  place. 
Even  the  "  Saloon,"  with  its  cubicular  bottles  of  Plantation 
Bitters,  suggested  smoked  herring  and  crackers ;  and  these 
in  our  condition  would  have  been  welcome  luxuries.  Be 
fore  we  had  dismounted,  a  gentleman  of  most  cheery  and 
hospitable  face  threw  open  his  door,  disclosing  arm-chairs 
and  rocking-chairs,  a  long  table,  and  a  dim  vision  of  beds 
in  the  background.  We  entered,  and  there  were  presently 
sounds  of  dulcet  hissing  and  sizzling  in  the  rear ;  grateful, 
but  ah  !  most  tantalizing  odors  in 'the  atmosphere ;  and  then 
the  trout  were  set  before  us  —  us,  who  would  have  rejoiced 
over  raw  pork !  It  was  a  meal  worth  pining  for,  and  I  do 
less  than  my  duty  in  recording  the  name  of  our  host,  Mr. 
Wolf  Londoner,  who  not  only  fed  but  lodged  the  whole 
party,  with  the  most  generous  disregard  of  his  own  and  his 
wife's  comfort.  I  consider  that  hospitality  perfect  which 
does  not  allow  you  to  feel  the  sacrifices  it  imposes;  and 
such  was  the  kind  we  received  in  Oro  City. 

We  passed  the  afternoon  in  a  state  of  luxurious  and 
commendable  idleness.  There  was  no  work  going  on  in 
the  gulch,  —  every  one  was  enjoying  the  national  holiday ; 


ARKANSAS  VALLEY  AND  THE  TWIN  LAKES.       127 

Major  De  Mary  came  across  the  valley  with  a  kind  invita 
tion  to  his  ranche  and  mineral  springs,  and  joined  our  club 
of  idlers.  We  not  only  learned  that  gulch  mining  is  still 
profitable  in  this  region,  —  one  company  producing  one 
hundred  dollars  per  day  per  man,  —  but  were  presented  by 
our  unparalleled  host  with  evidences  of  the  fact,  in  the 
shape  of  nuggets.  A  lump,  found  the  day  before  our 
arrival,  weighed  three  ounces.  Promising  lodes  have  been 
struck,  but  none  are  worked  as  yet. 

In  the  evening  one  of  our  party  lectured  in  the  Record 
er's  office,  which  was  draped  with  flags,  and  temporarily 
fitted  up  as  an  auditorium.  A  number  of  ladies  were 
present,  and  the  new  type  of  face  which  I  have  described 
in  a  previous  letter  reappeared  again.  The  question  re 
turned  to  me,  —  whence  is  it  produced  ?  From  the  climate 
of  our  central  regions,  the  circumstances  of  life,  or  the 
mingling  of  blood?  Possibly  a  mixture  of  all  three. 
Whatever  it  may  be,  here  is  the  beginning  of  a  splendid 
race  of  men.  I  remembered  having  been  very  much  puz 
zled  a  year  ago  by  the  face  of  a  waiter  on  one  of  the  Mis 
sissippi  steamers.  I  fancied  I  saw  both  the  Irish  and  the 
German  characteristics,  which  is  such  an  unusual  cross, 
that  I  ascertained  the  man's  parentage,  and  found  it  to  be 
Scotch  and  German.  The  Celtic  and  Saxon  elements  seem 
to  supply  each  other's  deficiencies,  and  to  improve  the 
American  breed  of  men  more  than  any  other  mixture. 
The  handsome  Colorado  type  may  be  partly  derived  from 
this  source. 

After  the  lecture  there  was  a  ball,  which  all  the  ladies 
of  the  Upper  Arkansas  Valley  —  hardly  a  baker's  dozen  — 
attended.  The  sound  of  music  and  dancing,  and  the  assur 
ance  that  we  would  be  acceptable  in  our  flannel  shirts  and 
scarlet  "  Matthews  ties,"  could  not,  however,  overcome  the 
seductions  of  Mr.  Londoner's  beds.  To  cross  the  Rocky 
Mountains  two  days  in  succession,  speak  to  the  multitude 
in  the  evening,  and  dance  afterward,  is  beyond  my  powers. 


128  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

"  Fatigue,"  as  Mr.  Beard  truly  remarks,  when  laying  aside 
a  half-finished  sketch,  "  demoralizes."  Our  host  and  hostess 
very  properly  resolved  not  to  be  cheated  out  of  their  holi 
day  ;  and  after  all  the  labor  our  advent  had  caused,  they 
enjoyed  the  ball  until  three  in  the  morning,  and  then  arose 
at  five  to  make  ready  for  our  breakfast. 

Our  proposed  route  was  down  the  Arkansas  to  Canon 
City,  a  distance  of  a  hundred  miles,  which  we  hoped  to 
accomplish  in  three  days.  The  head-waters  of  the  river 
are  at  the  western  foot  of  Mount  Lincoln,  the  dividing 
ridge  making  a  horseshoe  curve  around  them.  The  pass 
at  the  head  of  the  Arkansas  Valley  is  probably  the  lowest 
between  the  South  Pass  and  Santa  Fe,  but  on  each  side  of 
it  the  ranges  rise  rapidly  above  the  line  of  perpetual  snow. 
That  on  the  east,  which  we  had  just  crossed,  is  merely  a 
long  spur  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  dividing  the  South 
Park  from  the  Arkansas  Valley.  It  gradually  diminishes 
in  height,  and  finally  terminates  altogether  at  Canon  City, 
where  the  river  issues  upon  the  plains.  The  range  on  the 
west,  called  the  Sahwatch,  is  at  first  the  dividing  ridge  of 
the  continent,  lifting  its  serrated  crest  of  snow  to  the  height 
of  fourteen  thousand  feet.  In  the  course  of  fifty  or  sixty 
miles,  however,  it  divides ;  the  eastern  branch  uniting  with 
the  Sangre  de  Christo  and  Raton  Mountains,  while  the 
western  becomes  merged  in  the  Sierra  Madre  of  New 
Mexico,  dividing  the  waters  of  the  Gila  from  those  of  the 
Rio  del  Norte.  The  Sahwatch  Range  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  the  various  divisions  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
Its  forms  are  even  finer  than  those  seen  from  Denver. 
The  succession  of  tints  is  enchanting,  as  the  eye  travels 
upward  from  the  wonderful  sage-gray  of  the  Arkansas  bot 
tom,  over  the  misty  sea-gray  of  the  slopes  of  buffalo-grass, 
the  dark  purplish  green  of  fir  forests,  the  red  of  rocky 
walls,  scored  with  thousand-fold  lines  of  shadow,  and  rests 
at  last  on  snows  that  dazzle  with  their  cool  whiteness  on 
the  opposite  peaks,  but  stretch  into  rosy  dimness  far  to  the 
south. 


ARKANSAS   VALLEY  AND  THE  TWIN  LAKES.       129 

Counting  the  gradual  lower  slopes  of  the  mountains  on 
either  side,  the  Arkansas  Valley  is  here  five  or  six  miles 
in  breadth ;  and  you  may  therefore  imagine  the  splendid 
morning  landscape  in  pearly  shadow,  the  Sahwatch  illumi 
nated  from  capes  of  timber,  and  sage-plains  spangled  not 
less  with  flowers  than  with  dew,  as  we  rode  southward 
toward  the  Twin  Lakes.  Major  De  Mary  and  Mr.  Lon 
doner  accompanied  us.  Our  business  was  first  to  find 
Messrs.  Beard  and  Sumner,  who  had  started  with  the  mule- 
team  from  Buckskin  Joe,  and  were  expected  to  camp  at  a 
deserted  ranche  eight  or  ten  miles  down  the  valley ;  then 
to  accept  the  invitation  of  Mr.  Leonhardy  of  the  Twin 
Lakes,  and  dine  with  him  before  proceeding  further.  On 
reaching  the  crossing  of  the  Arkansas,  a  good  field-glass 
showed  us  the  artist  a  mile  away  in  pursuit  of  a  mule ; 
whereupon  two  gentlemen  set  off  on  a  gallop  to  his  assist 
ance.  The  rest  of  us  forded  the  river,  and  pushed  forward 
with  wet  legs  down  the  western  bank. 

There  are  very  few  lakes  in  Colorado,  hence  these  belong 
to  the  shows  of  the  Territory.  They  lie  at  the  foot  of  the 
Sahwatch  Range,  about  fifteen  miles  south  of  Oro  City. 
The  day  was  hot  and  sultry,  and  we  experienced  not  a  little 
relief  when  the  road,  leaving  the  treeless  bed  of  the  valley, 
mounted  to  a  hilly  region  covered  with  clumps  of  pine. 
It  was  miserable  to  see  how  many  trees  had  been  barked 
on  one  side  or  completely  girdled  ;  and  I  was  on  the  point 
of  anathematizing  the  settlers,  when  one  of  the  party 
charged  the  outrage  upon  the  elks.  The  destruction  of 
this  noble  game  is  now  a  matter  of  less  regret.  I  don't 
think,  however,  that  the  wanton  burning  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  forests  can  be  attributed  to  these  animals. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  refreshing  than  the  sud 
den  flash  of  a  sheet  of  green  crystal  through  an  opening  in 
the  grove.  A  cool,  delightful  wind  blew  across  the-  water, 
and  far  down  in  its  depths  we  saw  the  reflected  images  of 
snow-peaks  which  were  still  hidden  from  us  by  the  trees. 
9 


130  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

The  lower  lake  is  nearly  four  miles  in  length  by  one  and  a 
half  in  breadth,  and  its  softly  undulating,  quiet  shores, 
form  a  singular  contrast  to  the  rugged  mountains  beyond. 
A  straight,  narrow  terrace,  twenty  feet  in  height  —  a  natu 
ral  dam  —  separates  it  from  the  upper  lake,  which  is  a  mile 
and  a  half  in  length,  lying,  as  it  were,  between  the  knees 
of  the  mountains.  A  triangular  tract  of  meadow  land 
slopes  upward  from  the  farther  end  of  this  lake,  and  is 
gradually  squeezed  into  a  deep,  wild  canon,  out  of  which 
the  lake-stream  issues.  On  this  meadow  there  is  the  com 
mencement  of  a  town  which  is  called  Dayton.  The  people, 
with  singular  perversity,  have  selected  the  only  spot  where 
a  view  of  the  beautiful  lake  is  shut  out  from  them. 

Mr.  Leonhardy  had  tempted  us  with  descriptions  of  six 
and  eight-pound  trout ;  so,  when  we  reached  his  cottage 
and  were  informed  by  Mrs.  L.  that  he  was  upon  the  lake, 
Mr.  Byers,  whose  love  of  trout  would  lead  him  to  fish  even 
in  Bitter  Creek,  at  once  set  off  across  the  meadows.  We 
followed,  leaving  him  to  embark  in  the  shaky  little  craft, 
while  we  sought  good  pasturage  for  our  jaded  beasts.  The 
meadow  turf  was  beautifully  smooth  and  green,  but  before 
we  had  ridden  twenty  yards  my  pony  sunk  suddenly  to  his 
belly,  and  I  found  myself  standing  a-straddle  over  him. 
Looking  ahead,  I  saw  Mr.  McC.  similarly  posed  over  his 
mule,  while  the  others  were  making  rapid  detours  to  avoid 
our  company.  My  pony  extricated  himself  by  a  violent 
effort,  and,  taught  by  instinct,  gained  safe  ground  as  rap 
idly  as  possible ;  but  the  mule,  being  a  hybrid,  and  there 
fore  deficient  in  moral  character,  settled  on  his  side, 
stretched  out  his  neck,  and  yielded  himself  to  despair. 
Neither  encouragement  nor  blows  produced  the  least 
effect ;  he  was  an  abject  fatalist,  and  nothing  but  a  lariat 
around  his  body,  with  a  horse  as  motive  power  at  the  other 
end,  prevailed  upon  him  to  stir.  The  lariat  proved  effi 
cient.  When  his  hind  feet  had  thus  been  painfully  dragged 
out  of  the  mire,  he  pulled  out  his  fore  feet  and  walked 
away  with  an  air  of  reproach. 


ARKANSAS  VALLEY  AND  THE  TWIN  LAKES.       131 

The  large  specimens  of  trout  did  not  bite,  —  they  never 
do  when  there  is  a  special  reason  for  desiring  it,  —  but  we 
had  no  right  to  complain.  Mr.  Leonhardy's  dinner  was  a 
thing  to  be  remembered  —  a  banquet,  not  for  the  gods,  but 
(much  better  than  that)  for  men.  There  came  upon  my 
plate  a  slice  of  dark  fragrant  meat,  the  taste  whereof  was 
a  new  sensation.  It  was  not  elk  —  at  least  of  this  earth  — 
nor  venison,  nor  antelope,  nor  bear,  nor  beaver ;  none  of 
these  ever  possessed  such  a  rich,  succulent,  delicate,  and 
yet  virile,  blood-invigorating  flavor.  It  was  mountain  sheep 
—  the  wild,  big-horned  American  ibex  —  and  to  my  indi 
vidual  taste  it  is  the  finest  meat  in  the  world.  The  trout 
followed ;  and  the  bread,  butter,  and  milk,  could  not  be  sur 
passed  in  Switzerland.  Lastly  came  a  pudding,  stuffed 
with  mountain  berries,  to  crown  what  already  seemed  com 
plete.  The  perfection  of  the  dinner  was  not  in  the  mate 
rials,  excellent  as  they  were,  but  in  the  refined,  cultivated 
mind  which  directed  their  preparation. 

The  degree  of  refinement  which  I  have  found  in  the 
remote  mining  districts  of  Colorado  has  been  a  great  sur 
prise.  California,  after  ten  years'  settlement,  retained  a 
proportion  of  the  rough,  original  mining  element ;  but  Mon 
tana  has  acted  as  a  social  strainer  to  Colorado  ;  or,  rather,  as 
a  miner's  pan,  shaking  out  a  vast  deal  of  dirt  and  leaving 
the  gold  behind.  Mr.  Leonhardy  and  his  neighbors  live 
in  rude  cabins,  but  they  do  not  therefore  relinquish  the 
graces  of  life.  It  is  only  the  ^o7/*-cultivated  who,  under 
such  circumstances,  relapse  toward  barbarism.  Mountain 
life  soon  rubs  off  the  veneering,  and  we  know  of  what 
wood  men  are  made. 

Some  miles  up  the  canon  behind  the  lakes  is  Red  Moun 
tain,  which  is  said  to  be  streaked  through  and  through  with 
the  richest  gold  and  silver  lodes.  The  specimens  I  saw 
give  the  greatest  promise,  and  I  regretted  that  we  could 
not  have  visited  the  spot  whence  they  were  taken.  This 
region,  like  the  others,  is  waiting  for  the  best  and  cheapest 


132  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

method  of  reducing  the  ores.  It  is  a  vast  treasure-house, 
lacking  only  the  true  key  to  open  it. 

We  took  leave  of  our  generous  hosts  immediately  after 
dinner,  and  pushed  on  down  the  Arkansas  Valley,  still 
accompanied  by  Mr.  Londoner.  The  road  led  along  the 
banks  of  both  lakes,  close  to  their  deep,  dark  waters,  yet 
unsounded ;  and  over  their  cool  floor  the  dry,  lilac-tinted 
mountains  in  the  distance  shone  as  if  swept  with  fire.  We 
had  received  particular  directions  in  regard  to  fording  the 
creek  by  which  the  lakes  overflow  into  the  Arkansas.  It 
was  so  swollen  that  the  usual  ford  was  impracticable  ;  and, 
on  reaching  its  banks,  Mr.  Byers  judged  it  prudent  to 
make  a  platform  of  drifl-wood  upon  the  wagon-bed,  in 
order  to  lift  our  baggage  and  provisions  above  the  water. 
When  all  was  ready  for  the  trial,  he  remounted  his  horse 
and  led  the  way. 

Plunging  into  an  eddy  where  the  water,  though  above 
the  horse's  belly,  was  tolerably  still,  he  skirted  a  little 
island  of  willow  bushes,  beyond  which  the  main  current 
raced  by  with  a  very  perceptible  slant,  indicating  both 
depth  and  force.  We  followed  in  single  file,  slowly  and 
cautiously,  and  did  not  attempt  the  current  until  we  saw 
that  he  had  fairly  reached  the  opposite  bank.  When  my 
turn  came,  I  fully  expected  to  be  carried  away.  The  water 
rushed  over  the  saddle,  the  horse  lost  his  footing,  and 
nothing  but  a  plucky  heart  in  the  beast  carried  him  through. 
Then  came  the  mule-team,  Mr.  Sumner  driving  and  Mr. 
Beard  perched  upon  the,  platform,  with  the  precious  box 
of  colors  in  his  lap.  I  watched  them  creeping  along  under 
the  lee  of  the  island,  slowly  venturing  out  into  the  swift, 
strong  flood  —  then  the  mules  began  to  give  way,  and  pres 
ently  the  whole  team  started  down  stream,  with  one  mule 
under  water. 

Mr.  Sumner  succeeded  in  getting  a  little  out  of  the  cur 
rent,  and  two  horsemen  went  to  his  assistance.  The  wagon 
and  mules  were  half  urged,  half  dragged  into  stiller  water, 


ARKANSAS  VALLEY  AND  THE  TWIN  LAKES.       133 

and  there  they  stuck.  The  nose  and  ears  of  the  drowning 
mule  were  held  up  by  main  force ;  he  was  unharnessed, 
and  free  to  rise.  But  he,  too,  had  already  given  up  hope  ; 
he  lay  passive,  and  every  effort  to  inspire  him  to  make  an 
effort  was  fruitless.  More  than  half  an  hour  passed  anx 
iously,  four  of  the  gentlemen  working  hard  in  the  ice-cold 
water,  when  an  application  of  the  lariat,  drawn  by  horses, 
brought  the  wretched  beast  to  his  legs.  The  baggage  was 
then  carried  across,  piece  by  piece,  on  horseback  ;  the 
mule  hauled  over  and  contemptuously  turned  to  graze  ; 
another  mule  harnessed  in  his  place  ;  the  lariats  made  fast 
to  each  other  and  attached  to  the  wagon-tongue  ;  and 
finally,  the  wet  and  chilly  horsemen  crossed,  to  be  ready 
to  take  their  places  in  hauling.  Again  the  wagon  started  ; 
the  artist  clasped  his  color-box  (and  my  carpet-bag  I  grate 
fully  add)  with  renewed  energy  ;  the  mules  entered  the 
current,  wavered  again,  and  were  swept  away.  Six  of 'us, 
pulling  at  the  lariats  with  all  our  strength,  held  the  team 
and  wagon  floating  for  a  moment,  then  the  current  swung 
them  to  the  bank,  foothold  was  gained,  and  we  hauled 
them  out  with  a  shout  of  triumph.  The  adventure  lasted 
forty  minutes,  by  the  watch.  Those  who  had  been  loudest 
in  their  praises  of  savage  nature  up  to  this  point,  now 
began  to  admit  the  beauty  of  bridges. 

The  summits  of  the  Sahwatch  were  veiled  in  clouds,  and 
the  sky  became  overcast,  as  we  resumed  our  journey ;  our 
animals  were  all  fatigued  and  chilled,  and  our  progress  for 
the  next  six  or  eight  miles  was  slow.  My  pony  had  never 
been  shod,  and  the  hard  mountain  travel  began  to  tell  on 
his  feet ;  so  when  we  reached  Cache  Creek,  where  there 
are  three  taverns,  a  store,  a  saloon,  and  some  gulch  mining, 
my  first  inquiry  was  for  the  blacksmith.  At  Buckskin  Joe 
I  had  failed  ;  at  Oro  the  shop  had  been  burned  ;  and  now 
at  Cache  Creek  the  blacksmith,  when  found,  proposed  that 
I  should  wait  a  day.  This  was  impossible,  although  three 
taverns,  a  landlord  with  a  bunged  eye,  and  an  enterprising 


134  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

landlady,  offered  accommodation  enough.  We  had  already 
waited  an  hour  before  the  blacksmith  could  be  found  ;  and 
now,  a  little  dispirited,  we  set  out  in  a  drizzling  rain. 

A  little  below  Cache  Creek  the  Valley  of  the  Arkansas 
contracts.  The  road  winds  through  rocky  hills,  covered 
with  scattered  timber, — sometimes  following  the  river  down 
narrow  winding  glens,  sometimes  forced  over  steep  heights 
to  avoid  an  impassable  canon.  We  travelled  some  four  or 
five  miles  through  this  scenery,  and  encamped  in  a  mead 
ow,  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  gray  precipice.  A  bonfire  of 
dead  pine  trunks  dried  our  half-drowned  adventurers,  and 
two  stately  trees  made  shelter  for  our  beds. 


xvn. 

IN   THE   SOUTH   PARK. 

CAMP,  SOUTH  PLATTE  RIVER,  July  8,  1866. 

WHEN  we  encamped  on  the  Arkansas,  we  were  still 
seventy  miles  from  Canon  City,  by  the  practicable  trail. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances,  this  would  have  been  an 
easy  journey,  but  our  animals  were  fagged  by  the  severe 
mountain  travel,  the  sky  was  threatening,  our  provisions 
were  short,  and  there  was  no  settlement  on  the  way,  except 
a  few  miles  below  us,  in  the  Arkansas  Valley.  Neverthe 
less,  we  determined  to  push  on  as  far  as  possible,  and,  if 
need  be,  divide  the  party  at  the  end  of  the  day. 

It  was  a  little  hard  to  come  back  to  the  normal  diet  of 
salt  pork  and  biscuit,  but  Mr.  Londoner,  our  faithful  ally, 
set  us  the  example.  We  slept  soundly  on  elastic  mattresses 
of  fir,  breakfasted  early,  and  continued  our  slow  way 
down  the  valley.  There  was  a  deep  creek  to  be  forded, 
and  we  took  the  precaution  of  attaching  lariats  to  the 
wagon-tongue,  whereby  a  catastrophe  like  that  of  the  pre 
vious  day  was  prevented.  After  this,  the  rough,  broken 
country  ceased,  the  valley  opened  out  more  broadly,  and 
we  saw  —  or  would  have  seen,  but  for  gathering  clouds  — 
the  Sahwatch  Range.  An  irrigating  ditch  from  the  river 
pleasantly  surprised  us.  Following  it,  we  came  to  a  large 
inclosed  field  of  wheat  —  the  first  since  leaving  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Denver.  The  place  is  called  Frenchman's 
Ranche  from  its  owner,  whom  we  saw  at  a  distance,  en 
gaged  in  looking  after  his  growing  crops.  It  is  a  cheerful 
oasis  in  the  wilderness. 


136  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

Two  miles  further  we  crossed  the  Arkansas  on  a  rude 
but  substantial  log  bridge.  The  river  is  here  a  flashing, 
foaming  torrent,  about  the  size  of  the  Saco  at  Conway. 
The  road,  clinging  for  a  mile  or  two  to  the  grassy  meadows 
and  scattered  groves  of  the  valley,  gradually  climbs  along 
the  hills  on  its  eastern  side,  and  then  suddenly  enters  a 
narrow,  winding  glen.  A  little  further  to  the  south  the' 
great  Canon  of  the  Arkansas,  through  which  no  road  has 
yet  been  made,  commences  ;  and  all  the  travel  from  the 
farming  country  below  Canon  City  to  the  mining  regions 
about  the  head  of  the  river  must  cross  the  lower  part  of 
the  South  Park.  Fortunately,  the  mountain  boundaries 
of  the  Park  are  here  broad  and  low,  and  the  passage  of 
them  is  not  difficult.  Not  far  from  the  commencement  of 
the  Arkansas  Canon  there  is  a  pass  across  the  Sahwatch 
(the  "  Poncho  Pass  ")  into  the  great  San  Luis  Park,  which 
is  drained  by  the  Rio  del  Norte,  and  extends  two  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  southward  into  New-Mexico.  Governor  Gil- 
pin  says  that  the  San  Luis  Park  is  the  centre  of  the  Conti 
nent  —  "  the  best  gem  upon  its  zone  "  —  with  a  "  velvety  " 
atmosphere,  and  scenery  of  a  cosmical  character. 

With  the  first  winding  of  the  glen  we  entered,  the  Ar 
kansas  Valley  disappeared,  and  the  scenery  instantly 
changed.  The  hills  were  heaps  of  dark  red  boulders,  ar 
ranged  in  fantastic  piles  —  Cyclopean  pyramids,  sometimes 
topped  by  single  blocks,  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  diameter, 
sometimes  disposed  so  as  to  form  apparent  bastions  in  front 
of  long,  tumbling  ramparts.  Every  undulation  of  the 
ranges,  far  and  near,  was  crowned  with  these  natural  ruins. 
Out  of  the  thin,  sandy  soil,  grew  clumps  of  pinones  (a  pine 
with  edible  cones),  which  denoted  a  warmer  climate  than 
we  had  yet  found  in  the  mountains.  The  cactus,  also,  reap 
peared,  and  these  two  features  gave  a  savage  picturesque- 
ness  to  the  landscapes. 

After  a  few  scorching  sun-bursts,  the  sky  became  over 
spread  with  a  gray  film,  gathering  into  blackness  along  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  PARK.  137 

Alpine  ranges  behind  us.  For  mile  after  mile  we  wound 
through  the  labyrinths  of  rocks  and  bushy  pines,  a  slow, 
straggling,  and  rather  melancholy  procession.  My  poor, 
shoeless  pony  could  not  be  persuaded  to  trot.  Mr.  D.'s 
mule  refused  to  carry  him,  and  he  was  added  to  the  wagon- 
load,  greatly  discouraging  its  team.  Mr.  Byers's  horse, 
•alone,  seemed  equal  to  the  emergency.  Two  of  the  party 
pushed  ahead,  in  the  hope  of  finding  game,  and  the  re 
mainder  of  us  lagged  so  much  that  we  were  obliged  to 
camp  at  noon  without  overtaking  them.  The  rest  and  pas 
ture  slightly  encouraged  our  animals,  but  it  was  very  evi 
dent  that  we  could  no  longer  depend  upon  them. 

We  had  travelled  eight  miles  after  entering  the  hills,  be 
fore  there  were  any  signs  of  a  "  divide."  What  seemed  to 
be  the  highest  ridge  then  rose  before  us.  Its  crest  was 
bare,  and  as  we  emerged  from  the  trees  and  looked  back 
ward,  a  most  remarkable  landscape  was  revealed.  Over  a 
foreground  of  hill-tops,  from  which  shot  up  hundreds  of 
rocky  towers  and  pyramids,  we  looked  down  into  the  Ar 
kansas  Valley,  which  here  formed  a  basin  several  miles  in 
breadth.  Seen  through  the  filmy  atmosphere,  the  silvery 
sage-plains  seemed  to  be  transparent.  The  meandering 
lines  of  timber  which  marked  the  courses  of  the  Arkansas 
and  its  tributaries,  were  of  the  purest  ultramarine  hue.  In 
the  background,  the  intensely  dark  clouds,  resting  on  the 
summits  of  the  Sahwatch,  were  lifted  in  an  arch,  which 
was  filled  with  a  marvellous  glow  of  pale-gray  light,  en 
shrining  a  great  snow-peak  in  the  centre.  This  was  the 
luminous  part  of  the  picture  —  all  else  was  seen  through 
transparent  shadow,  the  gradations  of  which  were  so  ex 
quisite,  the  tones  so  rare  and  delicate,  that  Color  itself 
could  scarcely  represent  them. 

We  picked  up  our  foiled  hunters,  whom  we  found  sitting 
beside  a  fire,  in  an  attitude  of  dejection,  which  may  have 
been  the  effect  of  hunger.  On  the  summit  of  the  divide 
the  rain  began  to  fall,  though  not  rapidly  enough  to  ob- 


138  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

scure  the  beauty  of  the  long  and  lovely  valley  on  the  other 
side.  As  we  descended  this  valley,  it  soon  became  evident 
that  we  were  not  yet  in  the  South  Park  ;  it  turned  west 
ward  and  slanted  toward  the  Arkansas.  Mr.  Byers  and  I 
held  a  consultation  as  we  rode,  he  proposing  that  we  twain 
should  push  on  for  Canon  City,  leaving  the  others  (who 
had  no  lectures  to  deliver)  to  make  for  Denver.  To  do 
this,  however,  we  must  take  no  baggage,  and  very  little 
provender,  ride  twenty  miles  further  before  camping,  and 
run  the  risk  of  my  pony  giving  out  on  the  way.  We  were 
on  the  point  of  deciding  for  this  plan,  when  the  sky  closed 
over  us  more  darkly  than  ever,  the  rain  fell  in  steady, 
dreary  streams,  and  the  road  (which,  meanwhile,  had 
almost  imperceptibly  crossed  another  ridge  and  entered 
the  South  Park)  divided  into  two  trails.  One  of  these, 
Mr.  Londoner  informed  us,  led  to  the  Salt  Works,  about 
five  miles  distant,  where  we  could  find  food  and  shelter ; 
the  other  to  Canon  City,  with  a  single  deserted  ranche  on 
the  way. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon :  we  were  hungry, 
wet,  and  sore :  our  horses  seemed  scarcely  able  to  drag 
their  feet  through  the  mud  :  the  water  was  slowly  soaking 
through  our  shoulders  and  trickling  into  our  boots  ;  and 
the  heroic  resolutions  of  half  an  hour  previous  rapidly 
melted  away  as  we  paused  at  the  parting  of  the  ways. 
Like  many  another,  the  narrow  and  difficult  trail  lost  its 
self-denying  attractions ;  the  short  and  broad  trail  became 
suddenly  very  fascinating.  The  wind  blew  and  the  rain 
dashed  more  harshly  in  our  faces ;  we  yielded,  turned  our 
horses'  heads,  and  rode  silently  toward  the  Salt  Works. 

A  lone  mountain,  glimmering  dimly  across  the  melan 
choly  plain,  was  our  beacon.  Another  hour  brought  to 
view  a  column  of  smoke,  rising  from  its  base  —  the  wel 
come  sign  of  habitation  and  shelter  !  Then  we  saw  graz 
ing  herds  —  white  patches  of  saline  incrustations  —  shan 
ties  and  cabins,  and  just  before  nightfall  the  goal  was 


IN  THE  SOUTH  PARK.  139 

reached.  The  house  of  Mr.  Hall,  the  superintendent  of 
the  works,  received  our  dripping  party,  so  rejoiced  to  find 
warmth,  food,  and  protection  from  the  storm,  that  I  am 
afraid  we  were  not  fully  aware  of  the  inconvenience  we 
occasioned  to  our  kindly  hostess.  Ourselves,  blankets,  sad 
dles,  and  other  traps,  almost  filled  the  little  cottage ;  we 
made  a  solid  circle  around  the  stove  ;  yet,  somehow,  the 
bountiful  supper  was  swiftly  and  quietly  prepared,  and  two 
strangers  who  came  after  us  were  received  with  equal  hos 
pitality.  The  life  of  a  settler  in  Colorado  necessarily  en 
tails  these  duties,  and  if  they  are  always  so  cheerfully  and 
kindly  performed  as  in  our  case,  the  Territory  may  be 
proud  of  its  citizens. 

Mr.  Hall  gave  me  some  information  concerning  the  Salt 
Works,  from  which  it  appears  that  the  yield  of  the  springs, 
which  are  very  strongly  impregnated,  is  capable  of  supply 
ing  the  wants  of  Colorado,  for  many  years  to  come.  In 
spite  of  the  high  price  of  labor,  fuel,  and  supplies,  the  pro 
duction  of  salt  is  now  vigorously  and  successfully  carried 
on  ;  the  capacity  of  the  works  will  soon  be  doubled.  I 
ought,  properly,  in  my  character  of  traveller,  to  have  vis 
ited  them  :  the  curious  reader,  perhaps,  may  not  be  willing 
to  excuse  my  neglect ;  but,  at  the  time,  I  found  it  so  much 
more  agreeable  to  nurse  my  soaked  existence  beside  the 
stove  than  to  trudge  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  mud  and  rain, 
that  I  suppressed  the  voice  of  conscience.  We  all  know, 
however,  that  a  salt  spring  is  like  any  other  spring,  except 
as  to  taste ;  that  the  water  is  evaporated  by  boiling,  and 
that  the  importance  of  the  works  depends  on  the  quantity 
and  quality  of  the  water.  I  believe  Mr.  Hall  stated  twenty 
thousand  gallons  per  day  as  the  present  yield :  the  per 
centage  of  salt  is  equal  to  that  of  the  best  springs  in 
the  world. 

That  night,  we  filled  the  sofas,  benches,  and  the  floors  of 
the  kitchen  and  sitting-room.  Fir  in  the  trunk,  I  discov 
ered,  makes  a  much  more  uneasy  bed  than  fir  in  the  bough. 


140  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

Toward  morning  the  sleepers  were  restless,  and  if  we  arose 
before  the  sun  we  deserved  no  special  credit  for  it.  The 
South  Park  was  still  moist,  sodden,  and  shrouded  in  mist. 
Canon  City  being  now  out  of  the  question,  Colorado  City 
and  Pike's  Peak  were  next  discussed.  Seventy-five  miles, 
partly  of  very  rocky  travel,  and  no  blacksmith's  shop  on 
the  way,  were  altogether  too  much  for  my  pony,  and  we 
finally  decided  to  make  for  the  little  mining  village  of 
Fairplay,  twenty  miles  distant,  to  the  north.  Thence  to 
Denver  is  a  three  days'  journey,  along  the  South  Platte. 
Our  animals  had  enjoyed  the  richest  pasturage  during  the 
night,  and  a  lick  of  salt,  so  that  they  were  in  rather  better 
condition  when  we  started. 

This  part  of  the  South  Park  is  a  nearly  level  plain,  cov 
ered  with  the  finest  grass.  Detached  hills,  or  short  moun 
tain-ridges,  some  of  them  streaked  with  snow,  occasionally 
interrupt  the  level ;  but,  looking  northward,  the  view 
always  reaches  to  Mount  Lincoln  and  the  lofty  summits  of 
the  central  chain.  On  the  eastern  and  southern  sides  the 
mountains  are  lower,  although  they  rise  toward  Pike's 
Peak,  which  derives  its  apparent  height  and  imposing  ap 
pearance  from  its  isolation.  It  is  separated  by  a  distance 
of  fifty  or  sixty  miles  from  the  snowy  spurs  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  altitude  of  the  South  Park  is  considera 
bly  higher  than  that  of  the  Arkansas  Valley :  it  is,  in  fact, 
equal  to  that  of  the  Middle  Park  —  between  eight  and 
nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  Hence,  it  is  doubtful 
whether  grain  can  be  successfully  grown. 

Although  the  mist  gathered  into  clouds,  these  latter 
hung  low  for  several  hours,  hiding  the  mountains,  which 
constitute  the  finest  feature  of  the  Park  scenery.  We 
passed  Buffalo  Springs,  forded  several  small  affluents  of 
the  Platte,  vainly  tried  to  plunder  an  eagle's  nest  on  the 
top  of  a  pine-tree,  and  then  entered  on  a  slightly  undulat 
ing  plain,  eight  or  ten  miles  in  breadth.  Now,  at  least,  the 
sky  cleared,  revealing  snowy  chains  in  front  and  on  both 


IN  THE  SOUTH  PARK.  141 

sides  of  us ;  stretches  of  evergreen  forests  on  the  lower 
elevations;  isolated  ranges  to  the  eastward  —  landscapes, 
shifting  in  the  relation  of  their  forms,  but  never  to  be 
measured  with  a  radius  of  less  than  thirty  miles.  We 
should  have  enjoyed  the  scenery  more  keenly,  but  for  our 
anxiety  to  reach  Fairplay.  Mr.  Byers  pointed  out  the  lo 
cation  of  the  place  near  the  foot  of  the  northern  moun 
tains,  yet  many  a  weary  mile  still  intervened.  The  plain 
terminated  in  a  belt  of  scattering  timber,  then  dropped 
down  a  slope  into  broad  meadows,  crossing  which  we  found 
ourselves  on  the  edge  of  a  bluff,  with  the  main  stream  of 
the  South  Platte  foaming  fifty  feet  below  us. 

The  bridge  had  been  washed  away,  and  fording,  after  our 
previous  experiences,  was  anything  but  an  agreeable  neces 
sity.  The  water  was  so  very  swift  that  I  fully  expected  to 
see  Mr.  Byers  carried  away  ;  but  it  proved  not  to  be  deep, 
and  the  bottom  was  firm.  Leaving  the  others  to  haul  the 
wagon  across,  I  pushed  on  up  the  other  bank  to  Fairplay, 
left  my  pony  with  the  blacksmith,  and  engaged  dinner  for 
the  party  in  a  spacious  log  hotel,  kept  by  the  genial  and 
loyal  Judge  Castillo.  Fairplay  is  a  quiet  little  place,  with 
perhaps  two  hundred  inhabitants,  at  the  foot  of  a  wooded 
slope,  looking  to  the  south,  with  a  charming  view  far  down 
the  Park.  There  is  gulch-mining  along  the  Platte  and  its 
small  tributaries,  and  lodes,  I  am  told,  in  the  adjacent 
mountains.  Although  the  rains  returned  in  the  afternoon 
and  the  sky  was  threatening,  we  determined  to  make  ten 
miles  more  before  night. 

The  road  was  rolling,  and  still  heavy  from  the  rains, 
crossing  the  low  spurs  and  insteps  of  hills  thrust  out  from 
the  snowy  range.  We  made  slow  and  weary  progress,  but 
the  latter  part  of  the  way  was  illuminated  with  a  wonder 
ful  sunset.  Under  the  glowing  orange  of  a  cloud-bank  in 
the  east,  the  mountains  around  Pike's  Peak  lay  in  ashen 
shadow,  and  all  the  broad,  intervening  plain,  rosy-gray, 
shimmered  with  faint,  evanescent  tints  of  green  and  tur 
quoise-blue  and  gold,  where  the  light  struck  across  it. 


142  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

This  was  no  fleeting  effect :  it  lingered  for  at  least  half  an 
hour,  slowly  darkening  until  the  contrasts  of  light  and 
shade  became  as  weird  and  unearthly  us  in  some  of  the 
sketches  of  Dore.  Before  the  stars  appeared,  we  reached 
our  destination,  "  Dan's  Ranche,"  a  two-story  frame  tavern, 
kept  by  a  German.  There  was  a  dark,  dirty  bar-room,  in 
which  half  a  dozen  miners  were  waiting  for  supper  ;  good, 
clean  beds  and  bed-rooms,  and  a  landlady  who  conversed 
enthusiastically  with  me  about  Schiller. 

Four  or  five  miles  north  of  this  ranche  lies  Hamilton, 
at  the  foot  of  the  Tarryall  Pass,  by  which  wagons  cross  the 
snowy  range  to  Breckenridge.  The  soil,  in  all  this  portion 
of  the  Park,  shows  "  color,"  and  the  beautiful  swells  and 
undulations  which  delighted  our  eyes  are  destined,  no 
doubt,  to  be  dug  up,  washed  down,  and  torn  to  pieces. 
Already  hydraulic  mining  has  commenced,  and  the  yield 
of  the  earth  is  half  an  ounce  a  day  per  man.  This  is  the 
only  part  of  Colorado  where  I  have  seen  this  form  of  min 
ing  applied.  There  was  a  slight  attempt  at  gardening  at 
the  ranche,  apparently  made  without  much  hope  of  success, 
yet  I  thought  it  promised  very  well. 

This  morning  we  awoke  to  a  cloudless  sky  —  every  shred 
of  vapor  had  disappeared,  and  the  dewy  plains  glittered  in 
the  sunshine.  We  saddled  immediately  after  breakfast, 
and  set  out  to  cross  the  northeastern,  corner  of  the  Park 
to  the  opposite  mountains,  which  were  ten  or  twelve  miles 
distant.  Had  our  beasts  been  fresher,  it  would  have  been 
an  inspiring  ride.  The  ground  was  traversed  by  Fremont 
in  one  of  his  explorations  (I  think  in  1842  or  '43),  but 
how  little  he  has  told  us  of  the  scenery  !  The  idea  one  gets 
from  his  descriptions  and  those  of  other  explorers,  is  that 
of  dark,  stern,  northern  mountains,  —  the  Adirondacks  or 
White  Mountains  on  a  larger  scale,  —  whereas,  in  color  and 
atmospheric  effects  they  have  all  the  characteristics  of  a 
southern  latitude.  The  chain  of  the  Taurus  in  Asia  Minor 
most  resembles  them.  They  have  nothing  in  common  with 
our  conventional  American  scenery.  Bierstadt's  large  pic- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  PARK.  143 

ture  gives  a  fair  representation  of  some  of  their  forms 
(though  the  height  of  his  central  peak  is  exaggerated),  but 
he  has  not  chosen  their  peculiar  atmosphere. 

When  we  had  noticed  Hamilton  at  a  distance,  and  the 
two  log-cabins  which  mark  the  site  of  the  deserted  town 
of  Jefferson ;  when  we  had  caught  sight  of  Pike's  Peak 
through  a  long  vista  between  the  hills,  passed  ruined 
ranches  where  men  were  murdered,  and  meadows  of  peat 
which  burned  under  all  the  winter's  snows,  —  the  boundary 
of  the  South  Park  was  reached,  and  we  climbed  the  bare 
steep,  from  the  summit  of  which  we  should  look  upon  it  for 
the  last  time. 

At  this  point  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  little  enclosed 
world,  like  the  Valley  of  Mexico.  The  lesser  undulations 
of  the  soil  vanish,  but  the  loftier  ridges  scattered  over  its 
surface  and  more  or  less  wooded,  make  dark  waves  on  its 
broad  ground  of  faint  golden-gray.  At  a  distance  of  twenty 
or  thirty  miles  the  colors  appear  transparent ;  still  further, 
the  purple  peaks,  capped  with  snow,  are  painted  on  the  air. 
The  most  distant  tints  are  pale  lilac  rather  than  blue.  On 
the  right,  the  great  snowy  range  carries  its  grand,  solid, 
positive  features  beyond  the  line  where  the  Park  becomes 
more  of  a  vision  than  a  reality,  and  its  sharp  rock-shadows 
and  snow-fields  keen  against  the  sky  form  a  wonderful  con 
trast  to  the  airy,  sunlit  gleam  of  the  plains  below.  On 
the  one  hand  there  is  softness,  delicate  color,  and  vanish 
ing  distance ;  on  the  other,  height,  strength  and  dazzling 
clearness. 

Yet,  as  I  write,  I  feel  only  what  my  words  fail  to  convey. 
All  the  rarer  and  subtler  qualities  of  the  picture  fade  in 
the  effort  to  express  them.  If  the  characteristic  features 
of  Rocky  Mountain  scenery  can  be  inferred  from  the  frag 
ments  of  description  scattered  through  these  letters,  I  shall 
be  satisfied.  It  is  impossible  to  compress  them  into  a  sin 
gle  paragraph.  Each  day's  travel,  and  almost  every  land 
scape  of  each  day,  has  its  own  distinct  individuality. 


xvin. 

THE    RETURN   TO    DENVER. 

DENVER,  COLORADO,  July  12,  1866. 

WITH  the  parting  view  of  the  South  Park  we  left  the 
chief  glories  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  behind  us.  The 
main  branch  of  the  South  Platte  finds  an  outlet  to  the 
plains  through  a  canon  which  is  yet  impassable,  and  the 
road  to  Denver  strikes  diagonally  across  the  eastern  spurs 
of  the  snowy  range,  where  the  scenery  is  generally  of  a 
rough,  cramped,  and  confined  character.  For  some  miles 
we  had  very  fine  views  of  the  lofty  peaks  at  the  south 
eastern  corner  of  the  Middle  Park,  but  after  passing  the 
"Kenosha  House,"  a  lonely  tavern-ranche,  the  road  lay 
mostly  through  close,  winding  dells,  leading  us  to  one  of 
the  branches  of  the  Platte.  Our  anglers  succeeded  in 
getting  a  dozen  trout,  which  made  a  welcome  addition  to 
our  diminishing  stores.  We  might  have  found  a  tolerable 
"  square  meal "  at  the  tavern,  but  our  camp-life  was  draw 
ing  near  its  close  just  as  we  were  becoming  properly  habit 
uated  to  it,  and  there  was  no  dissenting  voice  to  the  propo 
sition  that  we  should  avoid  both  kitchens  and  roofs  for  the 
rest  of  the  journey.  A  single  exception  was  allowed, 
toward  evening,  in  the  purchase  of  a  loaf  of  bread. 

I  have  no  doubt  that,  had  the  course  of  our  journey  been 
reversed  —  had  we  been  fresh  from  the  monotony  of  the 
Plains  —  we  should  have  found  the  scenery  very  delightful. 
Though  the  glens  were  hot,  close,  and  dusty,  the  road  occa 
sionally  passed  over  breezy  ridges,  whence  there  were  bold 
views  of  the  lower  mountains.  We  missed  the  breadth  and 


THE  RETURN  TO  DENVER.          145 

sweep  of  the  Parks  and  the  Arkansas  Valley,  with  their 
new  and  wonderful  coloring.  During  the  last  fortnight  the 
soil  has  become  parched  and  dry,  and  even  the  narrow 
patches  of  meadow,  fed  by  living  springs,  have  a  brownish 
hue.  The  absence  of  vivid  green  turf,  the  scarcity  of  ferns, 
and  the  lack  of  variety  in  the  forms  of  the  timber,  are 
noticeable  in  this  portion  of  the  mountains.  It  occurs  to 
me,  as  I  write,  that  I  have  not  discovered  the  first  speci 
men  of  moss  since  reaching  Colorado.  Even  where  there 
is  perpetual  moisture,  moss  is  absent ;  the  rock-lichens, 
also,  are  rare.  On  the  other  hand,  the  flora  is  superb. 
We  had  found  but  very  few  flowers  in  the  South  Park ; 
but  now  the  road  was  fringed  with  the  loveliest 'larkspurs, 
columbines,  wild  roses  of  powerful  and  exquisite  odor,  gilly 
flowers,  lupines,  sweet-peas,  and  coreopsis.  The  trees  were 
principally  fir,  pine,  and  aspen.  A  variety  of  balsam-fir, 
with  young  shoots  of  a  pale-blue  tint,  grew  in  moist  places. 
Those  of  us  who  suffered  with  sunburn  or  bruises  opened 
the  gummy  blisters  of  the  young  trees,  and  anointed  our 
selves  with  the  balm.  In  my  own  case,  the  effect  was 
marvellous,  —  the  pain  of  days  was  healed  in  an  hour  or 
two. 

We  passed  two  ranches,  with  their  beginnings  of  agri 
culture,  during  the  afternoon,  and  encamped  before  sunset 
in  a  charming  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  stream.  Great 
towers  of  rock  rose  on  either  side,  leaving  us  barely  room 
for  the  beds  and  camp-fire,  beside  the  roaring  water.  Up 
the  Valley  we  saw  mountain  forests  and  a  distant  snowy 
peak.  Mr.  Beard  and  I  decided  that  our  fir-bed,  now  much 
more  skilfully  made  than  at  tne  start,  was  preferable  to 
lodging  in  any  hotel  in  Colorado.  We  had  stories  around 
the  camp-fire  that  evening ;  and  for  the  first  time  during 
the  trip  no  one  seemed  in  haste  to  get  under  his  blankets. 

We  had  not  gone  a  mile  down  the  Valley  next  morning 
before  we  came  upon  another  camp,  much  more  luxurious 
than  our  own.     There  was  a  powerful  two-horse  wagon,  a 
10 


146  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

tent,  trunks,  and  provision  boxes.  The  party  which  had 
thus  preempted  one  of  the  prettiest  spots  in  the  Valley 
consisted  of  Mr.  Ford,  the  artist,  of  Chicago,  with  his  wife, 
and  Messrs.  Gookins  and  Elkins,  also  Chicago  artists. 
They  had  made  the  entire  trip  from  the  Missouri  in  the 
wagon,  and  were  now  on  their  way  into  the  Parks  for  the 
summer.  Mrs.  Ford,  I  was  glad  to  notice,  was  not  the 
least  satisfied  member  of  the  party,  though  the  artists  were 
delighted  with  what  they  had  found  —  and  the  best  was 
yet  to  come.  Mr.  Whittredge,  who  crossed  the  Plains  with 
General  Pope,  was  at  that  time  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Pike's  Peak ;  so  that  Art  has  sent  jive  pioneers  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains  this  Summer. 

While  we  were  looking  over  the  sketches,  the  hospitable 
mistress  of  a  ranche  a  little  further  down  the  stream  made 
her  appearance,  with  a  basket  of  eggs  for  Mrs.  Ford.  She 
could  have  brought  nothing  more  scarce  and  valuable  — 
not  even  nuggets  of  gold.  We  passed  a  pleasant  hour  with 
the  artists,  and  then  left  them  to  push  on  toward  the  South 
Park,  our  own  hope  being  to  get  out  of  the  mountains 
before  camping. 

Leaving  this  branch  of  the  Platte,  we  struck  across  the 
line  of  the  ranges,  which  are  here  intersected  by  many  lat 
eral  valleys.  There  is  a  good  wagon-road,  of  a  much  more 
easy  grade  than  that  from  Denver  to  Central  City.  In  one 
of  the  giens  I  met  Mr.  L.,  of  Philadelphia,  who  called  out, 
in  passing,  —  "  The  President  has  signed  the  Railroad 
Bill ! "  This  was  good  news  to  the  Coloradians  of  the 
party.  The  Smoky  Hill  route,  on  account  of  its  forming 
the  shortest  and  most  direct  connection  with  St.  Louis 
and  the  eastern  cities  as  far  as  New  York,  is  becoming 
more  and  more  popular  here,  especially  since  it  is  un 
certain  whether  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad  will  touch 
Denver. 

The  day  was  excessively  hot,  not  only  in  the  glens,  but 
upon  the  heights  ;  and  our  animals  suffered  much  from  the 


THE  RETURN  TO  DENVER.          147 

attacks  of  flies.  We  had  a  journey  of  more  than  thirty 
miles  to  make  ;  or  nearly  ten  hours,  measuring  by  the  pace 
of  the  weary  horses.  When  we  halted  at  noon,  the  mules 
ran  into  a  willow  thicket  and  there  remained ;  while  my 
pony  left  off  grazing  and  came  to  me,  holding  down  his 
neck  that  I  might  brush  away  his  tormentors.  There  was 
so  little  variation  in  the  scenery  that  I  should  only  confuse 
the  reader  by  attempting  to  describe  it  in  other  than  gen 
eral  terms.  The  peaks  of  the  snowy  range  were  seldom 
visible.  It  was,  apparently,  a  broken,  hilly  region,  out  of  ^ 
which  rose  wooded  ridges  or  isolated  summits,  faced  with 
bold  escarpments  of  rock.  The  soil  was  thinly  covered 
with  grass,  gray  on  the  slopes  and  green  in  the  bottoms ; 
timber  was  plentiful  but  not  of  large  size;  yet  the  few 
evidences  of  farming  which  we  met  from  time  to  time 
showed  that  a  great  part  of  the  region  may  be  made  pro 
ductive.  We  passed  a  number  of  ranches  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  in  one  of  which  a  notable  speculation  was 
recently  made.  A  daughter  being  about  to  be  married, 
the  mother  invited  the  neighbors  far  and  near  to  the  num 
ber  of  forty.  They  came,  supped,  danced,  and  wished 
good  luck  to  the  nuptials,  and  —  were  each  presented  with 
a  bill  of  six  dollars ! 

As  we  drew  nearer  to  the  Plains,  the  signs  of  settlement 
and  travel  increased.  We  passed  a  saw-mill  in  operation, 
a  two-story  hotel  at  a  place  called  Junction  (whence  there 
is  a  road  to  Central  City),  and  many  a  "preempted  "  tract 
in  the  sheltered  little  valleys.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we 
reached  Bradford's  Hill,  Mr.  Byers  cheering  us  up  the 
ascent  with  the  assurance  that  it  was  the  last  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  For  nearly -two  miles  we  toiled  along  in  the 
scorching  sun,  sometimes  pausing  in  the  thin  aspen  shade 
to  look  backward  on  some  rock-buttressed  peak.  The 
summit  was  wooded,  but  an  opening  presently  disclosed  to 
our  sight  a  far,  blue  horizon-line,  probably  a  hundred  miles 
to  the  eastward.  It  was  only  a  passing  glimpse,  and  as 
"comforting  as  water  in  a  thirsty  land. 


148  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  'TRIP. 

On  the  first  step  of  the  descent,  I  found  for  the  first 
time  —  oaks.  They  were  small  saplings,  which  had  sprung 
up  where  the  large  primitive  trees  had  been  felled.  Mr. 
Byers  informed  me  that  he  had  frequently  seen  trunks  two 
feet  in  diameter,  all  of  which  have  now  disappeared.  The 
mountain  pine  is  a  soft,  spongy  wood,  liable  to  a  great  deal 
of  shrinkage ;  the  carpenters  even  declare  that  it  shrinks 
"  endwise."  Cotton-wood  is  only  fit  for  interior  work,  so 
that  good  building  lumber  is  scarce,  in  spite  of  the  abun 
dant  forests.  I  am  not  surprised  that  the  oaks  were  swept 
away,  but  I  regret  that  it  was  necessary. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  the  wild  fruits  of  the  mountains, 
which  have  become  of  some  importance  in  the  absence  of 
orchards.  The  currants,  gooseberries,  and  service-berries 
(amelanchier)  are  found  everywhere  ;  the  bushes  are  small, 
yet  bear  profusely.  Whortleberries  are  also  found,  but  not 
in  such  quantities.  There  is  a  wild  red  cherry,  a  plum, 
and,  in  the  southern  part  of  the  territory,  grapes.  Straw 
berries  carpet  the  forests  up  to  the  line  of  snow,  but  will 
not  be  ripe  for  two  or  three  weeks  to  come.  They  resem 
ble  precisely  the  small,  fragrant  fruit  of  Switzerland  and 
Norway.  With  the  exception  of  the  "  Oregon  grape  "  (ma- 
honia),  I  noticed  no  new  varieties  of  fruit.  The  cones  of 
the  pinones  appear  to  be  the  only  edible  nuts.  There  is  a 
singular  poverty  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  sylva. 

While  we  were  discussing  the  matter  of  oaks,  the  road 
climbed  a  little  ridge,  turned  around  a  bare,  stony  head 
land,  and  —  there  !  Half  a  continent  seemed  to  lie  beneath 
us.  We  stood  on  the  eaves  of  the  mountains,  above  all 
the  soil  between  us  and  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  As  from  the 
car  of  a  balloon,  or  the  poise  of  a  bird  in  mid-air,  we  looked 
down  on  an  immense  hemisphere  of  plain,  stretching  so 
far  that  we  could  only  guess  at  its  line  of  union  with  the 
sky.  North,  south,  and  east,  the  vision  easily  reached  a 
hundred  miles.  Wild  plain,  farm-land,  and  river-courses 
were  as  distinctly  marked  and  colored  as  on  a  map.  We 


THE  RETURN  TO  DENVER.          149 

saw  the  South  Platte,  issuing  from  its  mountain  gateway, 
gathering  Plum,  Cherry,  and  Bear  Creeks,  skirting  Den 
ver,  and  curving  far  away  on  its  course  toward  Julesburg 
and  Nebraska.  Beyond  Denver,  the  valleys  of  Clear  Creek, 
Boulder,  Thompson,  and  St.  Vrains  were  distinctly  marked, 
and  somewhere  in  the  vapors  of  the  horizon  lay  Cache-la- 
Poudre.  Scarcely  a  house  or  a  tree  in  all  this  vast  land 
scape  was  hidden  from  view.  Its  uniform  tint  of  dead 
gold  contrasted  exquisitely  with  the  soft  blue-gray  and 
pink-flushed  snows  of  Long's  Peak  and  his  neighboring 
summits  in  the  north. 

Looking  at  the  base  of  the  mountains  immediately  be 
low  us,  I  became  aware  of  a  remarkable  feature  of  their 
structure.  Parallel  with  the  general  direction  of  their 
bases,  and  from  a  quarter  to  half  a  mile  distant,  ran  a 
straight  outcropping  of  vertical  rock,  abruptly  broken 
through  by  the  streams  which  issued  upon  the  plains. 
Each  section  of  this  ridge,  which  was  from  one  to  two 
hundred  feet  in  height,  resembled  a  ship's  hull,  keel  up 
ward.  They  are  called  "  hog's-backs "  in  Colorado.  Not 
only  is  their  formation  distinct  from  that  of  the  mountains, 
but  they  are  composed  of  different  rock  —  mostly  lime 
stone,  gypsum,  or  alabaster.  Their  peculiar  appearance 
suggests  the  idea  of  their  having  been  forced  up  by  the 
settling  back  of  the  great  chain  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
after  upheaval.  I  am  told  that  this  formation  extends  for 
a  long  distance  along  the  eastern  base  of  the  mountains. 

As  the  road  wound  back  and  forth  down  the  bare,  tree 
less  slope,  contracting  the  semicircle  of  the  plains,  the  ob 
jects  enclosed  within  this  lower  rampart  attracted  us  more 
and  more.  Much  of  the  space  near  at  hand  was  already 
farmed,  and  green  with  lush  fields  of  wheat,  and  the  nar 
row  terrace  which  it  formed,  seemed,  at  first  sight,  to  have 
been  inhabited  for  thousands  of  years.  What  appeared 
to  be  the  ruins  of  giant  cities  arose  behind  the  walls  of 
rock,  casting  their  shadows  across  the  green.  Rude  natu- 


150  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

ral  towers,  obelisks,  and  pyramids,  monoliths  two  hundred 
feet  in  height,  of  a  rich  red  color,  were  gathered  in  strange 
labyrinthine  groups,  suggesting  arrangement  or  design. 
Beyond  the  Platte  there  was  a  collection  of  several  hun 
dred  of  these.  Mr.  Byers,  who  had  visited  the  place, 
assured  me  that  they  greatly  surpass  the  curious  rock- 
images  near  Colorado  City,  called  the  "  Garden  of  the 
Gods."  A  nearer  view  of  them  through  a  glass  filled  me 
with  astonishment.  I  saw  single  rocks  a  hundred  feet 
square,  and  nearly  as  high  as  Trinity  spire,  worn  into  the 
most  fantastic  outlines,  and  in  such  numbers  that  days 
might  be  spent  in  examining  them.  On  our  own  road 
there  were  several  detached  specimens  of  lesser  height, 
and  beyond  Bear  Creek  two  lofty  masses  of  a  rude  Gothic 
character.  The  wonders  of  Colorado  have  not  yet  been 
half  explored,  much  less  painted. 

Our  proposed  camping-place  lay  inside  the  nearest  "  hog 
back,"  at  the  foot  of  one  of  those  rocky  masses.  We  came 
down  the  long  slant  and  reached  the  spot  before  sunset, 
less  fatigued  by  the  journey  than  by  the  great  labor  (both 
of  spirit  and  flesh)  of  keeping  up  the  failing  courage  of 
our  animals.  Our  bread  was  at  an  end,  but  Colonel  Brad 
ford's  ranche,  with  its  stately  stone  residence,  seemed  to 
offer  indefinite  supplies;  so,  after  unsaddling  beside  the 
rock  and  turning  the  beasts  loose  to  graze,  we  called  upon 
the  Colonel  in  a  body.  He  kindly  gave  us  all  he  had  — 
not  bread,  but  flour  and  soda,  a  bunch  of  onions  from  the 
garden,  and  a  wash-basin  full  of  lettuce.  Moreover,  we 
had  unlimited  water  from  a  spring  in  the  garden,  and  milk 
from  the  dairy.  The  Colonel,  a  native  of  Alabama,  is 
justly  proud  of  his  ranche,  the  location  of  which  is  won 
derfully  picturesque. 

Mr.  Sumner  and  I  made  slapjacks  of  the  flour,  and  with 
a  little  exertion  we  got  up  a  passable  meal  at  twilight. 
Our  beds  were  soon  made  among  the  fragrant  herbs,  and 
the  night  passed  rapidly  and  quietly,  except  that  a  coyote 


THE  RETURN  TO  DENVER.          151 

stole  the  remainder  of  our  pork.  The  breakfast,  however, 
was  a  matter  of  little  consequence,  as  we  expected  to  dine 
in  Denver.  A  fierce  African  sun  came  up  in  the  cloudless 
sky,  driving  away  in  ten  minutes  the  scanty  dew  that  had 
fallen.  After  more  coffee  and  slapjacks  we  packed  hastily 
and  started  on  the  last  pull  of  sixteen  miles.  Four  of  the 
gentlemen  determined  to  go  up  Bear  Creek  and  fish  for 
trout;  Messrs.  Beard  and  Thomas,  with  the  mule-team, 
and  I  on  my  pony,  made  a  direct  line  for  civilization. 

By  the  time  we  reached  Bear  Creek  crossing,  the  heat 
was  intense.  My  pony  had  at  last  reached  the  limit  of  his 
performance,  and  I  was  fain  to  dismount,  seat  myself  in  the 
rear  of  the  wagon,  and  pull  him  after  us  with  the  lariat. 
We  resisted  the  shady  invitation  of  the  "  Pennsylvania 
Hotel "  beside  the  stream,  admired  as  much  as  was  possi 
ble  in  our  condition  the  splendid  fields  of  wheat,  farm  suc 
ceeding  to  farm  from  the  mountains  to  the  Platte,  and  then 
took  to  the  rolling,  fiery  upland.  Two  hours  more,  and 
from  a  ridge  we  hailed  Denver,  only  three  miles  away,  its 
brick  blocks  flashing  in  the  sun,  its  square  spire  shooting 
above  the  dark  green  cotton-woods,  and  its  shallow  river 
reflecting  the  blue  of  the  zenith  —  a  consoling  sight  I 

What  life  there  was  in  the  mules,  had  to  come  out  then : 
we  all  became  suddenly  conscious  that  we  were  dirty,  rag 
ged,  hungry,  thirsty,  and  terribly  fatigued.  An  intense 
longing  for  the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  life  moved 
our  souls  :  Denver  became  to  us  what  New  York  is  to  the 
moral  native  of  Connecticut.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess 
that  we  halted  at  the  lager-beer  brewery,  half  a  mile  from 
the  town,  and  took  a  refreshing  draught  to  correct  the 
effects  of  the  "  thin  air  and  alkali  water." 

The  Platte  bridge  was  crossed  and  we  entered  the  streets, 
a  party  more  picturesque  than  respectable  in  appearance. 
There  were  three  battered  wide-awakes ;  three  flannel 
shirts,  one  scarlet,  one  blue,  and  one  gray ;  three  brown 


152  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

faces,  one  skinless  nose,  and  one  purple  ditto. ;  dusty  rolls 
of  blankets,  a  bent  coffee-pot,  a  box  of  colors,  and  some 
saddles.  This  was  the  picture  which  slowly  moved  up 
Laramie  and  F  Streets,  and  stopped  at  the  door  of  the 
Pacific  Hotel. 


XIX. 

A  TRIP  TO  BOULDER  VALLEY. 

DENVER,  COLORADO,  July  14,  1866. 

MY  days  in  Colorado  are  drawing  rapidly  to  an  end.  The 
term  of  the  summer  holiday  which  I  have  allowed  myself 
is  nearly  over ;  yet  while  I  have  every  reason  to  be  satis 
fied  with  what  has  been  seen  and  done  in  a  brief  space  of 
time,  I  find  myself  regretting,  at  the  close,  that  I  am  not 
able  to  make  my  survey  of  the  territory  more  complete. 

The  change  from  camp-life  in  the  mountains  to  the  com 
parative  luxury  of  a  hotel  in  Denver,  was  so  very  agreeable 
that  for  two  days  I  did  little  else  than  enjoy  it,  and  com 
plete  my  lost  knowledge  of  the  world's  doings,  up  to  the 
point  of  comprehending  the  telegrams  of  national  and  for 
eign  news.  The  weather  was  almost  insupportably  hot 
during  the  day  —  98°  in  the  shade  —  and  the  better  part 
of  one's  life  was  expended  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing  until  sunset,  in  a  vain  effort  to  be  cool.  Every  after 
noon  a  lurid  mass  of  clouds  gathered  along  the  sunny 
range,  distant  thunders  echoed  among  the  peaks,  lightnings 
dashed  feebly  through  the  shadows,  and  the  storm  dissolved 
again.  ^  We  were  just  near  enough  to  gasp  in  its  sultriness, 
without  catching  a  drop  of  its  refreshment. 

Before  setting  out  on  my  mountain  trip,  I  had  made  an 
engagement  to  visit  the  Boulder  Valley,  twenty-five  miles 
to  the  north  of  Denver.  Yesterday  was  the  appointed  day, 
and  when  the  morning  came  with  a  burning,  breathless 
heat,  I  lamented,  —  for  a  moment,  only,  —  the  necessity 
of  the  journey.  It  was  the  usual  shudder  before  the 


154  COLORADO  :   A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

plunge.  My  faithful  pony  had  been  sent  back  to  his  pas 
tures  in  the  Middle  Park,  and  I  took  a  saddle-horse  at  five 
dollars  per  day,  at  a  livery-stable.  I  had  the  owner's  word 
that  he  was  a  good  animal ;  but  the  result  proved,  for  the 
hundredth  time,  a  truth  which  I  long  ago  discovered  — 
that  all  men  who  have  much  to  do  with  horses  become  de 
moralized.  Mr.  Thomas,  of  the  "  Chicago  Tribune,"  had 
agreed  to  accompany  me,  so  that  I  was  sure,  at  least,  of 
cheerful  society  on  the  way. 

We  rode  out  of  Denver  by  the  Salt  Lake  stage  road, 
which  runs  northward,  parallel  with  the  mountains,  for  near 
a  hundred  miles.  In  the  morning  air,  the  snowy  peaks, 
from  Pike's  to  far  beyond  Long's,  were  free  from  clouds, 
and  I  was  struck  with  the  great  diminution  of  snow  upon 
their  sides,  since  I  first  saw  them.  At  the  same  rate  of 
melting  they  will  be  almost  entirely  bare  in  another  month. 
I  doubt  whether  the  line  of  perpetual  snow  can  here  be 
placed  lower  than  thirteen  thousand  feet :  in  the  Alps  it  is 
not  more  than  eight  thousand.  Their  forms  were  no  less 
imposing,  after  seeing  the  grand  landscapes  of  the  Parks, 
and  there  was  a  constant  refreshment  in  turning  from  the 
heated  shimmer  of  the  Plains  to  the  sight  of  their  gorges 
in  cool  shadow,  the  dark,  cloudy  patches  of  their  pine  for 
ests,  and  even  the  bare  outlines  of  their  rocky  pinnacles, 
suggesting  tempered  sunshine  and  the  breezes  of  the  upper 
sky. 

In  four  miles  we  reached  Clear  Creek,  at  a  point  above 
Captain  Sopris's  ranche.  The  stream  was  so  swollen  by 
the  melting  snows,  that  half  the  bottom  was  overflowed, 
and  we  rode  for  a  furlong  in  water  up  to  the  horses'  bellies. 
Irrigation  seemed  unnecessary  ;  but  the  cultivated  land  is 
a  mile  or  more  in  breadth,  and  we  found  the  outer  ditches 
full.  The  wheat  is  in  head,  and  finer  crops  I  never  saw, 
except  in  California.  We  p'assed  no  field  which  will  pro 
duce  less  than  thirty  bushels  to  the  acre.  It  is  now  con 
sidered  secure  beyond  damage  from  smut  or  grasshoppers. 


A  TKIP  TO  BOULDER  VALLEY.  155 

The  sight  of  such  splendid  and  bounteous  agriculture, 
here,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  continent,  is  inexpressibly 
cheering. 

The  roads  leading  into  Denver  from  the  east,  and  out  of 
it  toward  the  west,  north,  and  south,  now  begin  to  be  pop 
ulous  with  the  usual  summer  emigration.  A  considerable 
number  of  wagons  bring  settlers  to  the  Territory  —  though 
less  than  there  would  be,  were  its  climate  and  resources 
generally  understood ;  large  freight  trains  are  on  their  way 
to  Salt  Lake  (which  I  hear  has  become  an  important 
business  centre,  with  a  population  of  twenty-five  thousand)  : 
and  many  emigrants,  bound  for  Montana  and  Idaho,  have 
been  obliged  to  make  a  detour  of  two  hundred  miles, 
through  Denver,  in  order  to  get  over  the  swollen  Platte. 
One  meets,  every  day,  the  same  variety  of  characters  — 
the  lazy,  shiftless  emigrant,  always  trying  new  countries 
and  prospering  in  none  ;  the  sharp,  keen,  enterprising  emi 
grant,  who  would  do  fairly  anywhere,  and  will  rise  very 
rapidly  here ;  the  shabby-genteel  adventurer,  on  the  look 
out  for  chances  of  speculation  or  office ;  and  the  brutal, 
ignorant  adventurer,  who,  some  morning,  will  leave  the 
country  "  up  a  tree."  The  "  Rocky  Mountain  News  "  will 
then  chronicle  the  fact  in  a  paragraph  headed :  "  And  he 
went." 

The  white  wagon-covers  of  some  of  these  parties  con 
tribute  to  the  popular  literature  of  the  Plains.  Many  of 
them  are  inscribed  with  the  emigrant's  name,  home,  and 
destination,  "  accompanied "  (as  the  applicants  for  auto 
graphs  say)  "  with  a  sentiment."  I  noticed  one  which  was 
simply  entitled  "  The  Sensible  Child."  Another  had  this 
mysterious  sentence,  which  I  will  not  undertake  to  explain  : 
"  Cold  Cuts  and  Pickled  Eel's  Feet."  "  The  Red  Bull," 
and  "  Mind  Your  Business,"  were  equally  suggestive  ;  but 
the  most  thrilling  wagon-cover  was  that  which  met  our  eyes 
on  crossing  the  Platte  Bridge,  and  whereon  we  read  :  "  Hell- 
Roaring  Bill,  from  Bitter  Creek !  "  In  the  shade  of  the 


156  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

cover,  between  the  wheels,  Hell-Roaring  Bill  himself  was 
resting.  He  looked  upon  us  with  a  mild,  sleepy  eye ;  his 
face  and  breast  were  dyed  by  the  sun  to  almost  the  exact 
color  of  his  hair ;  his  general  appearance  was  peculiar,  but 
not  alarming.  When  we  returned  this  morning  he  had  de 
parted,  and,  if  all  they  say  of  Bitter  Creek  be  true,  I  think 
he  has  done  well  in  changing  his  residence. 

After  leaving  the  wheat  fields  of  Clear  Creek,  we  rose 
again  to  the  "  second  bottoms,"  or  rolling  table-land  (this 
sounds  like  a  bull,  but  it  describes  the  thing),  where  the 
crimson  and  golden  blossoms  of  the  cactus  burned  in  the 
intense  sunshine,  all  over  the  scorched,  cracked  soil.  Thus 
we  rode  over  the  tawny,  treeless  swells,  for  seven  or  eight 
miles,  in  a  suffocating  heat.  We  then  left  the  stage  road, 
and  took  a  trail  leading  to  the  iron  and  coal  mines  of  Bel- 
mont,  at  the  base  of  the  mountains.  The  thunder-storm 
was  already  collecting  in  the  southward,  and  drew  toward 
us,  following  the  range  and  blotting  out  peak  after  peak  in 
its  course.  Presently  the  clear,  cool  shadows  crept  down 
from  the  upper  heights,  quenching  the  fiery  red  glare  of  the 
masses  of  rock,  two  thousand  feet  in  height,  before  us ; 
then  it  touched  the  Plains,  crept  nearer  to  us,  and  the  sting 
of  the  sun  was  withdrawn. 

The  local  limits  of  these  storms  was  very  strikingly 
marked.  At  the  distance  of  a  few  miles  from  the  moun 
tains  the  clouds  ceased  to  spread.  Though  behind  us  they 
gloomed  like  night,  and  under  their  grand,  majestic  arch 
we  looked  into  distant  floods  of  rain  and  lightning,  the 
eastern  half  of  the  sky  remained  cloudless,  and  the  Plains, 
for  leagues  away,  smouldered  in  fiercest  heat.  The  rain, 
also,  seemed  to  be  confined  to  a  second  limit,  inside  the 
line  of  cloud.  The  great  irregular  pyramid  of  Long's 
Peak,  full  in  front  of  us,  became  a  shadow  on  the  air  ;  the 
vast  nearer  piles  of  red  rock  were  silvered  with  slanting 
sheets,  and  we  expected,  every  moment,  to  feel  the  drops. 
But  the  sheets  moved  on,  northward,  as  if  with  half-spread 


A  TRIP  TO  BOULDER  VALLEY.  157 

wings  :  we  only  touched  their  outer  edge,  on  reaching  Bel- 
mont,  and  that,  because  we  rode  toward  them. 

This  is  a  charming  little  valley,  at  the  base  of  the  moun 
tains.  The  outcropping  of  limestone,  and  the  black  piles 
at  the  mouths  of  coal  drifts  indicated  our  approach  to  it. 
On  dropping  into  a  little  winding  hollow,  we  soon  saw  the 
massive  smelting  furnace  surrounded  by  clustered  cabins. 
Mr.  Marshall,  the  proprietor,  received  us  at  the  door  of  his 
residence,  and,  after  dinner,  piloted  us  to  the  furnace  and 
mines.  There  are  eleven  veins  of  coal,  varying  from  four 
to  twelve  feet  in  thickness,  in  the  space  of  half  a  mile ; 
iron  ore  of  a  richness  of  fifty  per  cent,  just  beyond  it,  and 
the  best  limestone,  in  almost  inexhaustible  quantities.  Mr. 
Marshall,  however,  has  only  experimented  with  the  native 
ores  sufficiently  to  establish  their  value.  ^He  finds  it  more 
profitable  to  buy  up  abandoned  machinery  at  a  trifling  cost, 
and  recast  it.  The  furnace  is  not  only  substantially  but 
handsomely  built,  and  has  thus  far  done  a  thriving  and  suc 
cessful  business  for  its  owner. 

Our  inspection  of  the  place  was  necessarily  hurried,  as  I 
had  an  engagement  for  the  evening  at  the  new  town  of  Val- 
mont,  some  eight  or  ten  miles  down  the  Boulder  Valley.  I 
looked  longingly  toward  the  magnificent  gorge  by  which  the 
South  Boulder  issues  from  the  mountains,  and  the  sheltered 
semi-basin  beyond,  where  we  saw  the  town  of  Boulder 
above  the  cotton-woods ;  but  there  was  not  time  (without 
better  horses)  to  extend  our  journey  so  far.  The  extent 
and  beauty  of  the  cultivated  land  watered  by  the  two 
streams,  was  a  new  surprise.  For  miles  farm  followed 
farm  in  uninterrupted  succession,  the  breadths  of  wheat, 
black-green  in  its  richness,  or  overrun  with  a  yellowing 
gleam,  dotted  with  houses  and  clumps  of  trees,  like  some 
fenceless  harvest-plain  of  Europe !  A  spur  of  softly-tinted 
hills  in  the  north,  the  solitary,  rock-crowned  hill  of  Val- 
mont  in  the  east,  the  snows  of  Long's  Peak  to  the  north 
west  —  these  were  the  features  enframing  the  lovely  val- 


158  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

ley.  Here  I  saw  again  how  much  Civilization  improves 
Nature. 

We  were  full  two  hours  in  reaching  Valmont,  on  account 
of  the  very  independent  habits  of  the  Colorado  farmers. 
The  second  bottoms  being  devoted  to  grazing  purposes, 
they  have  found  it  necessary  to  fence  the  outer  edge  of  the 
farm  land ;  and,  in  so  doing,  they  cut  off  the  road  with  the 
most  utter  disregard  of  the  public.  If  there  are  laws  in 
relation  to  roads,  they  seem  to  be  a  dead  letter.  That 
which  should  be  the  first  business  of  a  territorial  govern 
ment,  is  left  to  a  time  when  it  can  only  be  regulated  by  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  and  expense.  Our  National  Govern 
ment  acts  in  the  most  niggardly  manner  toward  its  incipi 
ent  States.  There  should  be  at  least  a  million  of  dollars 
annually  spent  in  each  Territory  between  the  Mississippi 
and  the  Pacific,  on  roads  and  bridges. 

In  spite  of  the  tedious  zigzags  we  were  forced  to  make, 
the  views  of  the  broad,  prosperous,  and  thickly-settled 
Boulder  region,  made  our  ride  very  enjoyable.  On  ap 
proaching  the  isolated  hill  which  had  been  pointed  out  to 
us  as  indicating  the  position  of  Valmont,  we  were  surprised 
to  find  no  sign  of  a  village.  The  dark  wheat-plains  swept 
up  to  its  base,  masses  of  rock  looked  down  from  its  summit, 
and  the  rosy  ridges  toward  St.  Vrains  lay  beyond.  We 
turned  a  corner  where  the  fields  had  almost  forced  the  road 
off  the  level,  and  there  stood  perhaps  a  dozen  new  cabins, 
and  a  few  scattering  cotton- woods.  But  of  these  cabins 
one  was  a  store,  one  a  printing-office,  and  one  a  Presbyte 
rian  church.  So  it  was  Valmont. 

We  found  comfortable  quarters  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Jones,  a  farmer,  who  has  been  on  the  spot  six  or  seven 
years,  and  has  made  himself  a  pleasant  home.  After  sup 
per,  the  other  farmers  began  to  arrive  from  up  and  down 
the  stream,  and  even  from  St.  Vrains  —  shrewd,  intelligent 
men,  every  one  of  them,  and  with  an  air  of  health  and 
vigor  which  speaks  well  for  the  climate.  I  would  have 


A  TRIP  TO  BOULDER  VALLEY.  159 

much  preferred  talking  with  them  all  the  evening  to  lec 
turing  in  the  church.  I  wondered,  on  arriving,  where  an 
audience  was  to  come  from,  and  was  not  a  little  astonished 
to  find  more  than  a  hundred  persons  gathered  together. 
What  I  had  looked  upon  as  a  task  became  a  pleasure,  and 
the  evening  I  spent  at  Valmont  was  one  of  my  pleasantest 
in  Colorado. 

The  people  informed  me  that  the  farming  on  the  St. 
Vrains  is  fully  equal  to  what  I  saw  on  the  Boulder  —  that 
the  valleys  of  the  Big  and  Little  Thompson,  and  even  of 
the  Cache-la-Poudre,  are  settled  and  cultivated,  and  will  this 
year  produce  splendid  crops.  The  line  of  settlement  is 
thus  not  only  creeping  northward  and  southward  from 
Denver,  but,  also,  following  the  tributaries  of  the  Platte,  it 
advances  eastward  to  meet  the  great  tide  approaching  it. 
I  verily  believe  that  it  will  not  be  more  than  two  or  three 
years  before  there  is  a  continuous  belt  of  settlement  — 
probably  two  of  them  —  from  the  Missouri  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

I  was  introduced  to  one  of  the  original  eight  squatters  in 
Boulder  Valley.  He  tells  a  singular  story  of  their  experi 
ence  with  the  Indians,  when  they  first  settled  here,  in  1859. 
Where  the  town  of  Boulder  now  is,  was  one  of  the  favorite 
camping-grounds  of  the  former.  They  not  only  warned 
the  intruders  away,  but  threatened  to  exterminate  them  if 
they  remained.  The  eight  men,  however,  constructed  a 
rude  fort,  and  made  preparations  to  stand  a  siege.  Hostil 
ities  commenced  and  were  carried  on  for  some  time,  when, 
one  day,  the  besieged  noticed  signs  of  commotion  in  the 
Indian  camp.  Toward  evening  a  warrior  arrived,  demand 
ing  a  parley.  They  hesitated  for  a  while,  but  finally  ad 
mitted  him,  whereupon  he  stated  that  the  medicine-man  of 
the  tribe  had  dreamed,  the  night  before,  of  stars  falling 
from  heaven  and  a  flood  from  the  mountains  sweeping  away 
their  camp.  This  he  interpreted  as  a  warning  that  they 
should  leave,  and  the  tribe,  therefore,  were  preparing  to 


160  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

depart.  The  next  morning  they  packed  their  tents,  and 
after  uttering  in  concert  a  mighty  howl  of  lamentation, 
went  out  on  the  Plains,  and  never  afterward  returned. 

We  started  early  this  morning,  to  avoid  the  terrific  mid 
day  heats.  For  our  entertainment  and  that  of  our  horses, 
at  Valmont,  we  were  only  asked  to  pay  two  dollars  and  a 
half  each.  The  farms  were  lovelier  than  ever  in  the  fresh 
morning  light,  and  as  we  paused  on  a  ridge  to  take  a  last 
look  at  the  place,  we  pronounced  it  the  prettiest  village-site 
in  Colorado.  Then  came  the  open,  unsheltered,  rolling 
Plains,  gathering  heat  and  dryness  from  hour  to  hour. 
Toward  noon  the  inevitable  storm  crept  along  the  moun 
tains,  but  we  were  outside  of  its  shadow,  under  the  burning 
half  of  the  sky  —  and  long  indeed  were  the  last  few  miles 
which  brought  us  into  Denver.  My  face  still  burns  with 
the  blistering  heat  absorbed  during  the  ride  ;  but  I  rejoice 
that  I  have  seen  Boulder  Valley  before  leaving  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 


XX. 

COLORADO   AS   A   SUMMER  RESORT. 

DENVER,  COLORADO,  July  15,  1866. 

THIS  is  my  last  night  in  Denver.  After  a  month  beside 
and  amon<r  the  Rocky  Mountains,  I  am  going  (as  the  peo 
ple  here  say)  "to  America."  My  place  is  taken  in  the 
stage  which  leaves  to-morrow  morning  for  the  East,  by  the 
Platte  route. 

Had  not  the  commencement  of  the  rainy  season  and  the 
condition  of  our  animals  prevented  me  from  reaching 
Canon  and  Colorado  cities,  my  tour  would  have  embraced 
all  of  the  mountain  regions  which  are  easily  accessible, 
and  some  that  are  not  so.  What  I  have  seen  is  amply 
sufficient  to  convince  me  how  much  more  there  is  to 
see.  During  a  journey  on  horseback  of  four  hundred 
miles,  which  led  me  through  two  of  .the  three  Parks,  and 
thrice  across  the  great  range,  I  have  obtained  a  tolerably 
extensive  knowledge  of  the  climate,  scenery,  and  other 
features  of  a  region  which  is  destined,  I  think,  to  become 
for  us  what  Switzerland  is  to  Europe.  Our  artists,  with 
true  instinct,  have  first  scented  this  fact,  and  they  are  the 
pioneers  who  point  out  to  ignorant  Fashion  the  way  it 
should  go. 

Whoever  comes  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  with  pictures 
of  the  Alps  in  his  memory,  expecting  to  find  them  repeated 
on  a  grander  and  wilder  scale,  will  certainly  be  disappointed. 
He  will  find  no  upper  world  of  unbroken  snow,  as  in  the 
Bernese  Oberland;  no  glaciers,  thrusting  far  down  be 
tween  the  forests  their  ever-moving  fronts  of  ice ;  no  con- 
11 


162  COLORADO  :    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

trast  of  rich  and  splendid  vegetation  in  the  valleys ;  no 
flashing  waterfalls ;  no  slopes  of  bright  green  pasturage ; 
no  moss ;  and  but  rarely  the  gleam  of  lakes  and  rivers, 
seen  from  above.  With  no  less  lofty  chain  can  the  Rocky 
Mountains  be  measured,  it  is  true ;  but  it  is  merely  a  gen 
eral  comparison  of  height,  not  of  resemblance  in  any  im 
portant  feature. 

In  the  first  place,  the  atmospheric  effects  are  those 
which  result  from  the  intense  dryness  of  the  heart  of 
a  continent  in  the  temperate  zone.  The  Alps  not  only 
touch  the  Mediterranean  at  either  extremity,  but  are  no 
further  from  the  Atlantic  than  from  here  to  the  Missouri 
River.  Four  or  five  cloudless  days  in  succession  are  con 
sidered  a  rare  good  fortune  by  the  tourist;  the  higher 
peaks  are  seldom  without  their  drapery  of  shifting  cloud. 
Here  a  clear  sky  is  the  rule.  There  is  seldom  vapor 
enough  —  except  just  at  present,  during  the  brief  rainy 
season  —  for  the  artist's  needs.  Perspective  is  only  ob 
tained  by  immense  distances.  The  wonderful,  delicate 
grays  of  the  mountain  landscapes  demand  changes  of  light 
and  shadow  which  are  often  lacking ;  they  lie  too  barely 
in  the  broad,  unobstructed  sunshine.  Yet  an  air  more 
delicious  to  breathe  can  scarcely  be  found  anywhere.  It  is 
neither  too  sedative  nor  too  exciting ;  but  has  that  pure, 
sweet,  flexible  quality  which  seems  to  support  all  one's  hap 
piest  and  healthiest  moods.  Moreover,  it  holds  in  solution 
an  exquisite  variety  of  odors.  Whether  the  resin  of  the 
coniferous  trees,  the  balm  of  the  sage-bush,  or  the  breath 
of  the  orchis  and  wild  rose,  it  is  equally  grateful  and  life- 
giving.  After  a  day  in  this  atmosphere  you  have  the  light 
est  and  most  restorative  slumber  you  ever  knew. 

On  first  entering  the  Rocky  Mountains,  you  find  the 
scenery  rugged,  cramped,  and  somewhat  monotonous. 
Press  forward,  and  they  open  anon  —  the  higher  the  sum 
mits  become  the  more  breadth  of  base,  the  clearer  outline 
they  demand.  They  push  away  the  crowd  of  lower  ridges, 


COLORADO  AS  A  SUMMER  RESORT.       163 

leaving  valleys  for  the  streams,  parks  with  every  variety  of 
feature,  and  finally  gather  into  well-defined  ranges,  or 
spurs  of  ranges,  giving  you  still  broader  and  grander  land 
scapes. 

The  San  Luis  Park,  from  the  accounts  I  have  heard, 
must  be  equally  remarkable.  It  is  on  a  much  grander 
scale,  and  has  the  advantage  of  a  milder  climate,  from  its 
lesser  elevation  above  the  sea-level.  The  North  Park  is 
rarely  visited  except  by  an  occasional  prospecter  or  trap 
per.  It  has  no  settlement,  as  yet,  and  I  have  met  with  no 
one  who  has  thoroughly  explored  it.  There  are  a  number 
of  smaller  parks  on  both  sides  of  the  main  chain,  and 
some  of  them  are  said  to  possess  great  natural  beauties. 
The  singular  rock  formations  at  the  eastern  base  of  the 
mountains  furnish  in  themselves  a  rare  and  most  original 
field  for  the  tourist  and  the  artist.  The  glimpse  I  had  of 
those  on  the  south  bank  of  the  Platte,  on  my  return,  from 
the  South  Park,  satisfy  me  that  they  surpass  in  magnitude 
and  picturesque  distortion  the  celebrated  basaltic  forma 
tions  of  Saxony. 

It  was  part  of  my  plan  to  have  ascended  either  Pike's  or 
Long's  Peak,  but  I  find  that  it  is  too  soon  in  the  season  to 
make  the  attempt.  Pike's  Peak  is  comparatively  easy  of 
ascent;  the  summit,  thirteen  thousand  two  hundred  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  has  several  times  been  reached 
by  ladies.  It  is  a  very  laborious,  but  in  no  sense  a  danger 
ous  undertaking.  On  account  of  its  isolated  position,  the 
view  from  the  top,  in  favorable  weather,  must  be  one  of  the 
finest  panoramas  in  the  world.  Long's  Peak  has  never  yet 
been  ascended.  Mr.  Byers,  two  years  ago,  reached  a  point 
about  five  hundred  feet  below  the  summit,  and  was  then 
compelled  to  return.  He  is  quite  confident,  however,  that 
it  can  be  scaled  from  another  side,  and  if  the  summer  were 
six  weeks  further  advanced,  I  should  be  willing  to  join  him 
in  making  the  attempt.  On  the  northern  side  he  says 
there  is  a  valley  or  rather  gulf,  with  walls  of  perpendicular 


164  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 


rock  between  two  and  three  thousand  feet  in  height,  resem 
bling  a  section  of  the  Yosemite. 

A  comparison  of  this  peak  with  Mont  Blanc  —  the  alti 
tude  of  both  being  just  about  the  same  —  may  give  a  clear 
idea  of  the  differences  between  the  Alps  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  When  you  see  Mont  Blanc  from  the  western 
part  of  Lake  Leman,  in  July  or  August,  he  appears  to 
you  as  a  dome  of  complete  snow,  the  few  rocky  pinnacles 
which  pierce  his  mantle  being  hardly  discernible  specks. 
He  is  a  white  vision  on  the  horizon.  Long's  Peak,  at  the 
same  distance,  is  of  the  faint  blue  or  purple  which  a  rocky 
mass  assumes,  veined  and  streaked  with  white,  but  showing 
only  one  snow-field  of  much  apparent  extent.  His  outline 
is  very  fine,  —  a  little  sharper  than  Mont  Blanc,  —  the 
western  side  (as  seen  from  Denver)  having  convex,  and 
the  eastern  principally  concave  curves.  He  rests  on  a  dark, 
broad  base  of  forest  and  rock,  his  snows  marking  the 
courses  of  deep  clefts  and  ravines.  At  present,  the  top 
most  summit  is  bare  on  the  southern  side.  It  is  rare  that 
one  sees  Mont  Blanc  from  summit  to  base :  I  have  not 
yet  seen  Long's  Peak  (except  during  a  passing  thunder- 
shower)  otherwise. 

I  do  not  think  the  parks  and  the  upper  valleys  of  the 
mountains  will  produce  anything  except  hardy  vegetables, 
and  perhaps  barley  and  rye.  But  they  abound  with  the 
richest  grasses ;  and  "  Colorado  cheese  "  may  one  day  be  as 
celebrated  as  Gruyere  or  Neufchatel.  They  offer  precisely 
those  things  which  the  summer  tourist  seeks  —  pure  air, 
lovely  nights,  the  finest  milk,  butter,  trout,  and  game,  and 
a  variety  of  mineral  springs.  The  summer  climate  I  know ; 
and  I  am  told  that  the  winter  is  equally  enjoyable.  It 
sounds  almost  incredible  to  hear  of  persons  in  the  latitude 
of  New  York,  and  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  rarely 
needing  an  overcoat  during  the  whole  winter  season. 
There  is  a  great  depth  of  snow,  and  an  occasional  severe 
day,  but  the  skies  are  generally  cloudless,  and  the  air  tern- 


COLORADO  AS  A  SUMMER  RESORT.  165 

perate  and  bracing.  The  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  are 
greater  in  Denver  than  in  the  mountains.  As  nearly  as  1 
can  learn,  the  coldest  weather  yet  experienced  in  San  Luis 
Park,  was  seven  degrees  below  zero ;  in  the  Middle  Park, 
fifteen  degrees  ;  and  in  Denver,  thirty  degrees  below. 

The  heavy  snow-fall,  while  it  is  a  godsend  to  the  agri 
culture  of  Colorado,  by  swelling  all  the  streams  at  the  very 
season  when  water  is  needed  for  irrigation,  nevertheless 
interferes  with  the  mining  interests.  There  are  many  rich 
placers  in  the  mountains  where  gold-washing  can  only  be 
carried  on  for  three  or  four  months  in  the  year,  and  even 
the  stamp  and  smelting  mills  are  hindered  in  procuring 
their  supplies.  It  will  also  be  the  principal  difficulty 
which  the  Pacific  Railroad  will  be  obliged  to  overcome. 
All  other  obstacles  are  much  less  than  I  had  imagined. 
Greater  achievements  have  already  been  done  in  rail 
roading  than  the  passage  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  By 
the  Clear  Creek,  the  South  Park,  or  the  Arkansas  Valley, 
the  Pacific  slope  can  be  reached,  with  not  much  more 
labor  than  you  find  on  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  road  be 
tween  Piedmont  and  Grafton.  The  facilities  of  construc 
tion  beyond  the  range,  however,  must  determine  where  the 
range  should  be  crossed.  A  thorough  exploration  of  the 
region  watered  by  the  Green  and  Blue  Rivers  must  first 
be  made. 

I  am,  therefore,  quite  unable  to  tell  you  where  the  road 
will  cross  the  Rocky  Mountains ;  it  is  enough  that  they 
will  be  crossed.  My  conjectures  —  given  for  what  they 
may  be  worth  —  take  this  form :  that  the  Central  Pacific 
Railroad,  now  rapidly  advancing  up  the  Platte,  will  cross 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Bridger's  Pass ;  that  the  Eastern 
Division  will  follow  the  Smoky  Hill^and  make  directly  for 
Denver';  that  a  road  running  northward  along  the  base  of 
the  mountains  will  connect  the  two ;  that  this  road  will  then 
be  extended  to  Montana  on  one  side  and  New  Mexico  on 
the  other ;  and  that,  finally,  a  second  central  road  will  be 


166  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

pushed  westward  from  Denver  into  and  across  the  Middle 
Park,  and  so  to  Nevada.  The  business  of  Colorado  alone, 
with  the  stimulus  which  a  completed  road  would  give,  will 
keep  that  road  fully  employed.  By  the  time  the  last  rail 
is  spiked  down  on  the  road  connecting  New  York  and  San 
Francisco,  we  shall  want,  not  one  line  across  the  continent, 
but  Jive. 

I  hazard  nothing,  at  least,  in  predicting  that  Colorado 
will  soon  be  recognized  as  our  Switzerland.  The  ener 
vated  luxury,  the  ignorant  and  imitative  wealth,  and  the 
overtasked  business  of  our  cities,  will  come  hither,  in  all 
future  summers,  for  health,  and  rest,  and  recreation. 
Where  Kit  Carson  chased  Arapahoes,  and  Fremont's  men 
ate  mule-meat,  and  Jim  Beckworth  went  through  apoc 
ryphal  adventures,  there  will  be  drawling  dandies,  maidens 
both  fast  and  slow,  ungrammatical  mammas,  and  the  heavi 
est  of  fathers.  The  better  sort  of  people  will  come  first, 
nor  be  scared  away  afterward  by  the  rush  of  the  unappre- 
ciating.  We  shall,  I  hope,  have  Alpine  clubs,  intelligent 
guides,  good  roads,  bridges,  and  access  to  a  thousand  won 
ders  yet  unknown.  It  will  be  a  national  blessing  when  this 
region  is  opened  to  general  travel.  That  time  is  not  now 
distant.  Before  the  close  of  1868  Denver  will  only  be  four 
days  from  New  York,  and  you  can  go  through  with  one 
change  of  cars.  Therefore  I  am  doubly  glad  that  I  have 
come  now,  while  there  are  still  buffaloes  and  danger  of  In 
dians  on  the  Plains,  camp-fires  to  build  in  the  mountains, 
rivers  to  swim,  and  landscapes  to  enjoy  which  have  never 
yet  been  described. 

The  weather  continues  intensely  hot  by  day,  with  cool 
and  perfect  nights.  Sometimes  the  edge  of  the  regular 
afternoon  thunder-storm  overlaps  Denver,  and  lays  the  hot 
dust  of  the  streets.  These  storms  are  superb  aerial  pict 
ures.  After  they  pass,  their  cloudy  ruins  become  the 
material  out  of  which  the  setting  sun  constructs  unimag 
inable  splendors.  If  I  were  to  give  the  details  of  them  it 


COLORADO  AS  A  SUMMER  RESORT.  167 

would  seem  like  color  run  mad.  Such  cool  rose-gray,  such 
transparent  gold,  such  purple  velvet  as  are  worn  by  the 
mountains  and  clouds,  are  fresh  wonders  to  me  every 
evening.  The  vault  of  heaven  seems  ampler  than  else 
where  ;  the  lines  of  cloud  cover  vaster  distances,  —  proba 
bly  because  a  hundred  miles  of  mountains  give  you  a  more 
palpable  measure  of  their  extent,  —  and  your  eye  recog 
nizes  infinite  shades,  gradations,  and  transitions  either  un 
seen  before  or  unnoticed.  This  amplification  of  the  sky 
and  sky-effects  struck  me  when  I  first  entered  upon  the 
Plains.  It  is  grand,  even  there  ;  but  here,  with  such  acces 
sories,  it  is  truly  sublime. 

I  do  not  now  wonder  at  the  attachment  of  the  inhab 
itants  of  the  territory  for  their  home.  These  mountains 
and  this  atmosphere  insensibly  become  a  portion  of  their 
lives.  I  foresee  that  they  will  henceforth  be  among  the 
clearest  and  most  vivid  episodes  of  mine. 


XXI. 

HOMEWARD,   ALONG   THE   PLATTE. 

OMAHA,  NEBRASKA,  July  21, 1866. 

ON  Monday  morning  last,  Mr.  Beard  and  I  took  our 
seats  in  the  overland  coach,  at  Denver.  Our  hopes  of  a 
comfortable  trip  were  blasted  at  the  outset:  there  were 
seven  passengers  for  Fort  Kearney,  and  four  for  the 
"  Junction,"  as  it  is  called,  on  the  Platte.  The  fare  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  which  one  pays  the  Hol- 
laday  Company,  is  simply  for  transportation:  it  includes 
neither  space  nor  convenience,  much  less  comfort.  The 
coaches  are  built  on  the  presumption  that  the  American 
people  are  lean  and  of  diminutive  stature  —  a  mistake  at 
which  we  should  wonder  the  more,  were  it  not  that  many 
of  our  railroad  companies  suffer  under  the  same  delusion. 
With  a  fiery  sky  overhead,  clouds  of  fine  dust  rising  from 
beneath,  and  a  prospect  of  buffalo-gnats  and  mosquitoes 
awaiting  us,  we  turned  our  faces  toward  "  America  "  in  no 
very  cheerful  mood. 

The  adieus  to  kind  friends  were  spoken,  the  mail-bags 
and  way-bill  were  delivered  to  the  coachman,  the  whip 
cracked  as  a  sign  that  our  journey  of  six  hundred  miles  had 
commenced,  and  our  six  horses  soon  whirled  us  past  the 
last  house  of  Denver.  The  programme  of  the  journey  was 
as  follows :  across  the  Plains  in  an  east-by-northern  course 
to  the  Platte,  eighty-five  miles ;  thence  to  Julesburg,  on  the 
line  between  Colorado  and  Nebraska,  one  hundred  and  fif 
teen  miles  more  ;  thence,  still  following  the  Platte,  to  Fort 
Kearney,  two  hundred  miles  more;  thence  to -the  western 


HOMEWARD,  ALONG  THE  PLATTE.  169 

end  of  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad,  wherever  we  might 
find  it.  The  agent  of  the  Overland  Mail  Company  in  Den 
ver  was  unable  to  give  me  any  information  upon  this  latter 
point.  There  were  rumors  that  the  trains  had  reached  Co 
lumbus,  one  hundred  miles  west  of  Omaha,  and  we  pre 
ferred  to  believe  them,  as  they  made  our  anticipations  of 
stage  travel  less  formidable. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  we  started,  and  with  every  hour 
the  heat  and  dust  increased.  The  long  range  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  to  which  we  fondly  looked  back,  no  longer  re 
freshed  us  with  their  distant  appearance  of  coolness ;  they 
might  rather  be  compared  to  enamelled  pictures  of  pale 
violet,  slowly  fixing  their  colors  in  a  furnace  of  quivering 
heat.  The  green  of  the  Plains  was  rapidly  drying  into  a 
tawny  hue,  and  only  the  cactus,  with  its  splendid  flowers, 
seemed  to  rejoice  in  the  season.  The  long  swells,  extend 
ing  north  and  south,  between  the  tributaries  of  the  Platte, 
gave  some  little  variety  to  the  road.  In  the  hollows  the 
presence  of  dark-foliaged  cottonrwoods  told  of  subterranean 
moisture,  although  the  creek  beds  showed  only  dry,  hot 
gravel.  The  horses  were  changed  at  intervals  of  eight  or 
ten  miles,  and,  when  we  had  made  four  stations,  I  was 
agreeably  surprised  on  our  halting  for  dinner  at  a  neat 
frame  cottage,  with  stable  and  post-office  adjoining.  The 
meal,  at  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents,  was  excellent,  the  water 
alone  having  a  suspicious  flavor  of  alkali.  We  made  use 
of  a  corrective  which  I  would  recommend  to  all  travellers  — 
two  or  three  lemons  cut  into  pieces  which  can  be  stuffed 
into  a  bottle,  which  fill  with  good  whiskey. 

In  the  afte'rnoon,  when  the  breathless  heat  and  fine,  suf 
focating  dust  were  scarcely  to  be  endured,  there  came  a 
merciful  relief.  The  mountain  thunder-storm  either  took 
a  wider  sweep  than  usual,  or  varied  from  its  course  at  the 
head-waters  of  Cherry  Creek,  and  came  down  the  divides 
toward  us.  The  cool  shadows  crept  over  the  landscape, 
and  after  a  time  the  rain  followed.  Then  ensued  a  new 


170  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

annoyance  :  our  outside  passengers  came  in,  and  ten  large 
persons  must  occupy  the  space  designed  for  nine  dwarfs. 
Toward  evening  the  clouds  lifted  for  an  hour  or  two,  and 
we  took  our  last  look  at  the^  Mountains,  lying  dark  and  low 
on  the  horizon.  The  passengers  for  the  Junction  were 
pleasant  fellows,  and  I  mean  no  disrespect  in  saying  that 
their  room  was  better  than  their  company.  After  sunset 
another  setting  in  of  rain  drove  them  upon  us,  and  by 
eleven  at  night  (when  we  reached  their  destination)  we 
were  all  so  cramped  and  benumbed,  that  I  found  myself 
wondering  which  of  the  legs  under  my  eyes  were  going  to 
get  out  of  the  coach.  I  took  it  for  granted  that  the  near 
est  pair  that  remained  belonged  to  myself. 

The  artist  and  I  had  now  possession  of  the  back  seat ; 
but  our  condition  was  not  greatly  improved.  We  tried 
various  devices  with  rolls  of  blankets,  but  all  to  no  pur 
pose.  The  coach  is  so  ingeniously  constructed  that  there 
are  no  corners  to  receive  one's  head.  There  is,  it  is  true, 
an  illusive  semblance  of  a  corner  ;  if  you  trust  yourself  to 
it,  you  are  likely  to  lean  out  with  your  arm  on  the  hind 
wheel.  Nodding,  shifting  of  tortured  joints,  and  an  occa 
sional  groan,  made  up  the  night.  There  was  no  moon,  and 
nothing  was  visible  except  the  dark  circle  of  the  flains 
against  the  sky. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  the  daylight  was 
creeping  up  under  the  clouds,  we  halted  at  a  singular  sta 
tion.  A  wall  of  adobes  three  feet  thick  and  six  in  height, 
pierced  with  loop-holes  for  musketry,  confronted  us.  The 
top  was  rudely  machicolated,  and  ov»er  the  main  entrance 
was  the  inscription,  "  Fort  Wicked."  Entering  the  fortress, 
we  found  a  long  adobe  cabin,  one  part  of  which  was  occu 
pied  as  a  store,  well  stocked  with  groceries,  canned  pro 
visions,  and  liquors.  A  bearded  man,  with  a  good-natured 
but  determined  air,  asked  us  if  we  would  stop  for  break 
fast.  It  was  Mr.  Godfrey  himself,  the  builder  and  defender 
of  the  fort,  which  is  known  all  along  the  Platte  as  "  God- 


HOMEWARD,  ALONG  THE  PLATTE.  171 

frey's  Ranche."  Here,  last  fall,  he,  his  wife,  and  "  another 
man,"  withstood  a  siege  of  two  days  by  three  hundred  In 
dians,  who  finally  retreated,  after  losing  seventeen  of  their 
number.  Mr.  Godfrey  boldly  announces  that  he  will  never 
surrender.  He  is  now  well  prepared,  and  the  rumors  of  a 
new  Indian  war  do  not  give  him  the  least  anxiety.  He  is 
"bad  medicine"  to  the  tribes  of  the  Plains,  who  are  as 
cowardly  as  they  are  cruel.  The  stable  and  corral  are 
defended  by  similar  intrenchments. 

We  had  breakfast  after  an  hour's  delay,  and  then  set 
forward  for  Julesburg,  which  was  still  some  eighty  miles 
distant.  Daylight  revealed  the  Platte  on  our  left  —  a  nar 
row,  winding,  muddy  stream,  with  no  timber  on  its  banks. 
On  either  side  the  same  bare,  brown  plain  rolled  away  to 
the  horizon  ;  streaks  of  sandy  soil  made  the  road  toilsome 
to  our  teams,  but  as  the  stations  did  not  average  more  than 
ten  miles  apart  we  made  fair  progress.  The  broad,  well- 
beaten  road  swarmed  with  freight  teams  as  the  day  ad 
vanced,  and  the  'condition  of  their  cattle  showed  the 
excellence  of  the  pasturage  on  this  route.  The  brown- 
ness  and  apparent  barrenness  even  of  this  portion  of  the 
Plains  does  not  indicate  a  sterile  soil,  though  it  is  undoubt 
edly  more  arid  and  sandy  than  any  part  of  the  Smoky  Hill 
route. 

The  weather  favored  us  beyond  expectation.  The  day 
was  overcast  and  delightfully  cool ;  mosquitoes  and  buffalo- 
gnats  did  not  molest  us,  and  every  station  we  left  behind 
added  to  our  peace  of  mind.  There  was  little  to  see  be 
yond  the  fact  that  no  part  of  this  region  is  naturally  a 
desert.  The  game  has  been  driven  away  —  even  prairie- 
dogs  are  scarce ;  —  where  there  was  timber  it  has  been  de 
stroyed  (fire-wood  was  furnished  to  the  military  post  at 
Julesburg  last  winter  at  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  dol 
lars  per  cord  !),  and  the  first  summer  splendor  of  the  flora 
had  passed  away.  There  were  some  wild  sunflowers  and 
lupines,  and  occasionally  great  purple  beds  of  the  cleome. 


172  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

Sometimes  the  Platte,  forcing  its  way  through  the  long, 
monotonous  waves  of  the  soil,  made  for  itself  the  sem 
blance  of  a  valley,  with  narrow  lengths  of  fresh  bottom 
land  and  low  knobs  of  hills  ;  but,  on  looking  back  on  the 
day's  journey,  I  can  recall  no  single  feature  of  prominence. 
It  was  one  landscape  all  the  way. 

Until  evening,  at  least.  Then  the  sun  came  out  and 
illuminated  the  barracks  of  Julesburg,  the  flag-staff,  and 
flag.  The  buildings  surrounding  the  parade-ground  are  of 
adobes  —  homely,  but  clean.  The  commanding  officer's 
residence,  of  the  same  material  —  a  French  cottage,  with 
mansard  roof  —  is  actually  beautiful.  We  halted  long 
enough  to  exchange  a  few  remarks  with  the  officers,  and 
to  be  assured  by  them  that  there  was  no  immediate  danger 
of  an  Indian  attack  ;  then  we  pushed  on  to  the  village  of 
Julesburg,  where  we  found  supper,  a  two-story  hotel  nearly 
completed,  a  store  and  billiard-room !  I  perceive  that 
speculation  (which  is  another  name  for  civilization)  is 
anticipating  the  Pacific  Railroad. 

We  now  passed  out  of  Colorado  into  Nebraska,  having 
made  just  half  the  distance  from  Denver  to  Fort  Kearney. 
This  was  a  matter  for  congratulation  ;  but  the  second  night 
was  coming  on,  and  we  had  little  hope  that  fatigue  would 
bring  sleep.  One  of  our  passengers  only  was  fortunate. 
He  had  the  happy  faculty  of  distributing  himself,  as  it 
seemed,  all  over  the  coach,  and  remaining  unconscious, 
while  his  head  was  in  the  way  of  one,  his  hips  of  another, 
and  his  feet  of  a  third.  During  the  day,  by  mutual  ar 
rangement  and  concession,  we  relieved  our  cramped  mus 
cles  as  much  as  possible ;  when  we  settled  for  the  night 
(a  mere  make-believe)  this  was  no  longer  possible,  and  the 
season  of  suffering  began.  Except  while  the  horses  were 
being  changed  at  the  stations,  I  do  not  believe  that  I  slept 
at  all.  The_  desperate  attempt  to  do  so  produced  a  dim, 
dazed  condition,  wherein  I  heard  the  constant  roll  of  the 
wheels,  and  felt  every  jolt  of  the  coach. 


HOMEWARD,  ALONG  THE  PLATTE.  173 

On  Wednesday  morning  at  daybreak  we  halted  for  break 
fast  at  Alkali  Station,  a  dreary  adobe  building  in  the  midst 
of  a  dreary  landscape,  which  had  not  yet  shaken  off  the 
gray  night  mist.  From  this  point  the  country  began  to 
improve.  The  attempts  of  the  Platte  to  establish  a  valley 
of  its  own  gradually  succeeded.  There  were  marked  lines 
of  bluffy  hills  on  either  side,  green  bottom-lands,  now  and 
then  imposingly  broad,  willow-brush  along  the  river-banks 
and  on  the  scattered  islands,  and  at  last  clumps  of  cotton- 
wood  trees.  We  still  traversed  streaks  of  sand,  still  drank 
alkali  water ;  but  the  road  was  alive  with  teams,  and  there 
were  grazing  and  supply  ranches  at  intervals  of  four  or 
five  miles.  Here  and  there  new  adobe  buildings  were 
going  up.  We  saw  red  cedar  logs,  which  the  people  in 
formed  us  came  from  valleys  in  the  rear  of  the  bluffs ;  and 
there  was  evidently  no  agriculture,  simply  because  it  had 
not  been  tried. 

The  loneliness  of  the  Plains  was  now  so  invaded  that  I 
could  only  realize  with  difficulty  where  we  were.  We 
passed  mile  after  mile  of  great  freight  wagons  —  some  of 
them  carrying  four  tons  weight  and  drawn  by  six  yoke  of 
oxen  —  of  emigrant  wagons,  where  .the  sunburned  women 
and  wild-looking  children  were  stowed  among  the  piled 
household  goods,  —  there  was  no  end  to  them.  At  noon 
the  wagons,  under  the  direction  of  a  train-master,  were 
"  corralled  "  in  a  half-circle,  the  oxen  turned  loose  on  the 
bottoms,  and  the  teamsters  —  except  those  detailed  as 
cooks  —  took  their  ease  in  the  shade  between  the  wheels. 
They  appeared  to  be  scattered  portions  of  a  single  hun 
dred-mile-long  caravan.  The  ranches  were  well  supplied 
with  those  articles  which  the  strong  and  rather  coarse  taste 
of  these  wagon-men  demand :  whatever  their  quality  may 
be,  the  prices  are  superb.  Mr.  Beard  bought  a  small  tum 
bler  for  seventy-five  cents ! 

Before  we  reached  Cottonwood,  which  is  half  way  be 
tween  Julesburg  and  Fort  Kearney,  the  scenery  became 


174  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

pleasant,  in  spite  of  its  sameness.  The  valley  expanded 
to  a  breadth  of  ten  miles,  and  every  winding  of  the  Platte, 
which  here  divides  into  several  arms,  could  be  traced  by 
its  picturesque  lines  of  timber.  On  the  coach  from  Omaha 
we  found  Colonel  Chivington  (of  Sand  Creek  memory), 
who  gave  us  the  welcome  intelligence  that  the  railroad 
trains  were  within  sixty-five  miles  of  Fort  Kearney.  All 
the  passengers  had  their  heads  tied  up,  to  keep  off  the 
buffalo-gnats  ;  yet  we  were  not  molested  in  the  least.  At 
Cottonwood,  the  bottoms  of  thick  green  grass,  the  clumps 
and  lines  of  timber,  with  the  first  appearance  of  the  ash 
and  elm,  were  a  delight  to  the  eye.  Here  we  got  a  capital 
dinner,  and  the  water  began  to  lose  its  alkaline  taste. 

All  the  afternoon  the  landscapes  of  the  Platte  were 
broad  and  beautiful.  The  accession  of  the  north  branch 
gave  the  river  a  majestic  breadth  and  sweep ;  the  valley 
became  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  wide,  between  bluffs  which 
now  rose  high  enough  to  make  low,  blue  headlands  in  the 
distance.  In  some  glens  on  the  right  we  saw  red  cedar. 
Here,  at  least,  there  is  a  fine  field  for  agriculture  :  I  doubt, 
even,  whether  irrigation  will  be  required.  I  had  not  ex 
pected  to  strike  the  fertile  eastern  belt  of  the  Plains  so 
soon.  It  was  a  warmer  counterpart  of  the  rich  French 
lowlands,  lacking  only  the  grace  given  by  centuries  of 
human  habitation. 

We  rolled  off  the  fourth  hundred  miles  from  Denver 
during  a  third  painful  night,  and  at  six  o'clock  on  Thurs 
day  morning  drove  into  the  village  of  Kearney,  a  mile  or 
two  west  of  the  fort.  The  stage  was  just  ready  to  start 
for  the  end  of  the  railroad,  and  the  local  passengers  in 
waiting  grudged  us  time  for  breakfast.  The  crossing  of 
the  Platte,  they  said,  would  take  from  two  to  three  hours, 
and  we  should  have  trouble  in  reaching  Lone  Tree  Station 
by  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  station  agent,  however, 
was  on  our  side,  and  we  snatched  a  hasty  refreshment  be 
fore  departing  for  the  ferry  in  an  open,  jolting  wagon. 


HOMEWARD,  ALONG  THE  PLATTE.  175 

There  were  twelve  hundred  Pawnees  encamped  near  the 
fort,  and  I  should  have  visited  their  camp  had  it  been  pos 
sible.  I  only  saw  that  Kearney  is  already  a  smart  little 
village,  which  will  soon  be  a  town,  and  the  centre  of  a 
splendid  agricultural  region. 

The  Platte  is  here  a  mile  wide,  its  broad  yellow  surface 
marked  by  a  thousand  shifting  currents  and  the  ripple- 
marks  of  sand-bars.  Two  crazy  little  skiffs  were  moored 
to  the  bank,  and  in  these  it  appeared  we  and  our  baggage 
were  to  be  transported ;  another  wagon  far  away  on  the 
opposite  bank  awaited  our  arrival.  There  was  a  pair  of 
short  oars  in  the  boat,  but  the  ferryman,  instead  of  taking 
them,  deliberately  stripped  to  the  skin  and  jumped  into  the 
water.  We  were  advised  to  follow  his  example  before 
taking  our  seats,  but  we  only  partially  complied,  retaining 
shirts  and  coats  to  ward  off  the  scorching  sun.  The  other 
boat  being  similarly  prepared,  we  commenced  the  transit, 
which  is  unique  of  its  kind. 

If  the  Missouri  pilot  learns  a  new  channel  with  every 
voyage,  our  Platte  ferryman  had  even  less  dependence  on 
his  route.  He  chose  his  course  entirely  by  appearances  on 
the  surface,  avoiding  both  the  sand-bars  and  the  deeper 
portions,  for  we  stuck  fast  on  the  former,  and  drifted  in  the 
latter.  His  policy  was  to  walk  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
bar,  towing  the  boat  by  the  bow.  Sometimes  he  walked 
a  hundred  yards  up  stream,  then  as  far  down  again,  tack 
ing  and  veering  like  a  ship  in  a  shifting  gale.  At  one  mo 
ment  he  stood  in  a  foot  of  water  and  the  boat  sat  fast ;  the 
next,  he  plunged  overhead  and  clung,  floating,  to  the  gun 
wale,  while  a  passenger  rowed.  In  half  an  hour  we  were 
half-way  across ;  then  one  of  our  company  stripped  and 
went  to  the  ferryman's  assistance.  Between  the  two,  we 
reached  the  opposite  bank  in  about  an  hour ;  the  second 
boat,  which  had  meanwhile  stranded,  detained  us  half  an 
hour  more.  Such  is  the  Platte  —  the  meanest  of  rivers ! 

It  was  a  jolting  old  mule-wagon  which  was  waiting  for 


176  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

us;  but  a  stage  we  were  told  would  be  found  some  five 
miles  further  on !  Away  we  went  in  the  clear,  hot  sun 
shine,  over  meadows  of  splendid  grass,  along  the  edges  of 
beautiful  groves  and  thickets,  past  the  corn-fields  of  pioneer 
settlers,  when,  behold !  an  islanded  arm  of  the  river  at 
least  two  hundred  yards  wide  appeared  before  us.  We  had 
not  yet  crossed  all  the  Platte.  This  arm,  however,  was 
fordable ;  all  went  well  until  we  reached  the  middle,  when 
the  team  stuck.  The  bottom  being  quicksand,  the  mo 
ment  the  wagon  stood  still  the  wheels  began  to  sink.  Out 
sprang  our  ferryman,  seized  the  tires,  and  urged  until  we 
moved  again.  Then  a  whiffletree  broke,  and  again  we 
commenced  sinking  ;  the  process  was  repeated  several 
times,  and  we  were  all  on  the  point  of  taking  to  the  river, 
when  a  final  desperate  tug  brought  us  over  the  last 
channel. 

Once  in  the  stage,  we  rolled  rapidly  down  the  valley.  I 
was  surprised  to  find  settlement  pushed  so  far  westward. 
From  the  time  we  crossed  the  Platte  we  were  never  out  of 
sight  of  corn  and  wheat-fields  —  and  what  dark,  heavy,  lux 
uriant  grain  !  No  irrigation  is  needed,  and  there  are  no 
finer  crops  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  native 
grasses  are  rank  and  thick  as  a  jungle,  and  furnish  an 
unlimited  quantity  of  the  finest  hay.  Some  of  the  farmers 
have  planted  little  groves  of  cotton-wood  about  their  houses ; 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  they  grow  (six  to  ten  feet  in 
a  year)  shows  how  easy  it  will  be  to  reclothe  these  treeless 
regions. 

We  were  detained  an  hour  waiting  for  dinner,  and  the 
chances  of  our  catching  the  evening  train  so  diminished 
that  we  presented  the  driver  with  a  slight  testimonial  of 
respect,  in  order  to  insure  greater  speed.  The  horses  were 
poor  and  the  afternoon  very  hot,  but  we  reached  Lone  Tree 
before  six  o'clock,  and  were  finally  set  down  in  the  grass, 
beside  the  waiting  train,  some  minutes  before  its  departure. 
Here  there  was  a  saloon  and  two  boarding  shanties,  which 


HOMEWARD,  ALONG  THE  PLATTE.  177 

are  moved  as  the  road  moves.  The  track  is  already  laid 
fourteen  miles  west  of  the  Lone  Tree,  and  is  being  extended 
at  the  rate  of  a  mile  and  a  half  per  day.  Recently  two 
miles  and  seventeen  hundred  feet  were  laid  in  a  single  day  — 
the  greatest  feat  of  the  kind  in  the  history  of  railroad 
building  !  The  grading  has  already  passed  Fort  Kearney, 
and  will  reach  Cottonwood  —  half  way  from  Omaha  to 
Denver  —  by  next  winter.  Who  disbelieves  in  a  railroad 
across  the  continent  now  ? 

When  the  train  started,  and  the  fair  sunset  sat  upon  the 
grassy  swells  and  far  dim  groves  of  the  Platte,  I  gave  my 
self  up  to  the  exquisite  sensation  of  rest.  Aching  in  every 
limb,  and  feverish  from  loss  of  sleep,  the  knowledge  that 
our  hardships  were  over,  was  almost  as  soothing  as  slum 
ber.  There  were  but  few  passengers  on  the  train,  and 
each  of  us  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  a  double  seat,  arranged 
as  a  couch,  for  the  night.  Daybreak  found  us  within  ten 
miles  of  Omaha,  and  at  six  o'clock  we  were  set  down 
at  the  hotel,  in  precisely  three  days  and  twenty-two  hours 
from  Denver. 

12 


xxn. 

GLIMPSES 'OF    NEBRASKA. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  Mo.,  July  27,  1866. 

EXCEPT  that  vegetables  are  earlier  and  more  abundant, 
and  that  one  is  a  little  nearer  to  fruit  and  New  York  news 
papers,  I  do  not  find  a  great  deal  of  difference  between  the 
civilization  of  Nebraska  and  that  of  Colorado.  Omaha 
and  foenver  are  places  of  about  the  same  size,  —  the  latter 
probably  the  better  built  of  the  two.  From  this  time  on, 
the  former  will  increase  more  rapidly ;  but  when  the  rail 
road  reaches  Denver,  I  imagine  the  balance  will  be  re 
stored.  The  people  of  Omaha  are  convinced  that  their 
place  will  be  another  Chicago ;  and,  as  they  see  six  hun 
dred  buildings  going  up  this  season,  we  cannot  so  much 
wonder  at  their  "  great  expectations."  They  certainly  have 
a  beautiful  location  —  if  the  Missouri  River  were  to  be  de 
pended  upon.  The  crescent  hills,  open  toward  the  east, 
inclose  a  high,  favorable  shelf  of  land,  upon  which  the  city 
can  spread  for  some  time  to  come.  It  is  three  miles  across 
to  the  Iowa  hills,  and  the  picturesque  town  of  Council 
Bluffs  at  their  feet,  so  that  they  who  reside  in  the  higher 
part  -of  Omaha  enjoy  a  much  broader  and  more  beautiful 
view  than  can  be  had  from  any  other  place  on  the  Missouri. 

I  devoted  the  first  twenty-four  hours  to  absolute  rest, 
after  my  journey  across  the  Plains.  Moreover,  the  weather 
was  truly  African  in  its  dry,  intense  heat,  making  sight 
seeing  so  much  of  a  task  that  I  deserve  some  credit  for 
seeing  anything  beyond  what  the  hotel  windows  allowed. 
In  the  pleasant  company  of  Governor  Saunders  and  Mr. 


GLIMPSES  OF  NEBRASKA.  179 

Frost,  of  the  Pacific  Kailroad,  I  visited  the  height  on  which 
the  Capitol  stands,  the  sulphur  springs,  and  the  extensive 
shops  and  works  which  the  railroad  company  has  erected 
within  the  past  six  months.  What  the  latter  has  accom 
plished  is  really  amazing.  There  is  now  rail  enough  on 
hand  to  reach  Cottonwood,  one  hundred  miles  beyond  Fort 
Kearney ;  several  splendid  locomotives  are  waiting  to  be 
called  into  service,  the  manufacture  of  cars  has  com 
menced,  and  the  grandest  basis  is  already  laid  for  carrying 
on  the  business  of  the  road.  The  ties,  mostly  brought 
down  from  the  Upper  Missouri,  —  whether  of  pine,  elm, 
or  cotton-wood,  —  are  bumetized  to  render  them  durable. 
Some  idea  of  the  enormous  expense  of  building  the  road 
may  be  obtained  from  the  statement  that  each  tie,  when  put 
down  in  its  place,  has  cost  the  company  from  one  and  a 
half  to  two  dollars !  The  cost  of  bringing  railroad  iron, 
locomotives,  and  machinery  to  Omaha  is  also  very  great,  as 
there  is  no  rail  connection  with  the  East.  None  of  the 
lines  through  Iowa  will  be  completed  before  next  summer. 

The  same  process  which  I  had  noticed  in  Kansas  —  the 
gradual  restoration  of  forests  —  may  be  observed  here. 
The  hills  and  valleys  around  Omaha,  wherever  they  have 
been  protected  from  fire,  are  rapidly  being  clothed  with  tim 
ber.  Clumps  of  cotton-wood  and  evergreens  —  sometimes 
small  groves  of  the  former  —  have  been  planted  around  the 
farm-houses,  which  are  built  in  dips  and  hollows  of  the 
boundless  grassy  waves  of  the  landscape. 

The  country  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  I  ever  looked 
upon.  A  little  more  sandy,  perhaps,  than  Kansas,  but 
equally  fertile,  it  presents  the  same  general  features.  I  am 
more  than  ever  struck  with  the  great  difference  between 
this  region  and  that  to  the  east  of  the  Mississippi.  Here, 
without  very  bold  or  prominent  forms,  there  is  none  of  the 
wearisome  monotony  of  the  prairie,  as  in  Illinois ;  no  un 
sightly  clearings,  ragged  timber,  or  swampy  tracts,  as  in 
Indiana  and  Ohio ;  but  Nature  has  given  the  smoothness 


180  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

and  finish  which  elsewhere  comes  from  long  cultivation ; 
and  in  twenty  years  from  now  both  Kansas  and  Nebraska 
will  appear  to  be  older  than  any  other  States  west  of  the 
Alleghanies.  They  have  little  of  the  new,  half-developed, 
American  air  about  them ;  but  suggest  some  region  of 
Europe,  from  which  war  has  swept  away  the  inhabitants. 

I  crossed  to  Council  Bluffs,  which  has  an  ancient,  sub 
stantial  appearance  contrasted  with  Omaha.  The  people 
insisted  that  their  rolling  prairies,  behind  the  bluffs,  were 
even  finer  than  those  of  Nebraska,  —  which  is  scarcely 
possible.  They  (the  people)  have  just  awakened  to  the 
necessity  of  annexing  themselves  to  the  business  world, 
and  are  now  laboring  to  hurry  the  railroad  through  from 
Boonsborough.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the  Missouri  may 
leave  the  Omaha  side  of  the  valley  and  come  back  to 
them :  at  present,  their  distance  from  the  steamboat  land 
ings  is  a  great  drawback.  The  settling  of  Montana,  never 
theless,  has  given  a  new  impulse  to  all  the  towns  on  the 
river.  No  less  than  sixty  boats  have  gone  up  to  Fort 
Benton  this  season. 

On  Monday  morning  I  took  the  steamer  for  Plattsmouth, 
some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  below,  by  the  river.  I 
should  have  preferred  the  land  journey,  but  for  a  heat  of 
102°  in  the  shade,  a  wind  like  a  furnace  blast,  and  stifling 
dust.  While  the  boat  was  in  motion,  a  barely  endurable 
temperature  was  produced,  and  I  enjoyed,  here  and  there, 
some  lively  glimpses  of  valleys  on  the  Nebraska  side,  that 
of  the  Platte  especially  being  superb.  Plattsmouth  is 
nearly  a  mile  below  the  junction  of  the  rivers,  —  a  pleasant 
little  place  of  a  thousand  inhabitants.  Nothing  but  the 
heat  prevented  me  from  spending  the  rest  of  the  day  and 
evening  very  agreeably  there. 

On  Tuesday  to  Nebraska  City,  forty  miles  further,  by  the 
river.  There  is  little  to  note  on  the  way  except  the  end 
less  changes  of  the  current,  adding  hundreds  of  acres  to 
the  meadows  on  one  side,  and  undermining  cotton-wood  for- 


GLIMPSES  OF  NEBRASKA.  181 

ests  on  the  other.  Nebraska  City  is  not  seen  to  advantage 
from  the  river,  to  which  it  presents  its  narrowest  side,  the 
chief  portion  of  the  place  —  which  has  seven  or  eight  thou 
sand  inhabitants  —  lying  in  the  rear  of  the  bluffs.  It  is 
an  active,  lively  town,  in  spite  of  a  predominance  of  the 
Missouri-Secesh  element,  as  I  am  informed.  I  found  a 
very  comfortable  hotel,  and  was  indebted  to  an  intelligent 
German  physician  for  a  drive  around  the  heights  toward 
evening.  The  heat  was  still  my  great  torment. 

There  was  no  boat  down  the  river  on  Wednesday,  and 
as  I  had  an  engagement  at  Brownville,  twenty-five  miles 
distant,  I  was  obliged  to  have  dealings  with  a  livery-stable. 
The  extreme  of  extortion  in  this  line  had  been  reached,  I 
imagined,  in  Kansas.  I  was  mistaken.  For  the  team 
I  hired  (driven  by  an  ex-Rebel  soldier)  I  was  obliged  to 
pay  at  the  rate  of  eighty-Jive  cents  per  mile  !  This  is  double 
Colorado  and  treble  California  prices.  I  was  unable  to. 
resist  the  outrage ;  for  the  liverymen  of  Nebraska  City  have 
a  mutual  agreement  to  swindle  strangers,  and  do  not  inter 
fere  with  each  other's  operations.  This  is  one  of  the  dis 
advantages  of  travel  in  the  West.  We  are  told  that  com 
petition  regulates  prices :  it  does  not.  On  the  contrary, 
combination  keeps  them  up.  No  people  are  so  fleeced  and 
flayed  as  ours.  The  law  offers  no  protection,  because  our 
politicians  fear  to  offend  any  portion  of  the  voting  classes. 
"  They  manage  things  differently  in  France." 

Neither  the  consciousness  of  having  been  imposed  upon 
(a  mean,  disagreeable  sensation),  nor  the  stifling  heat  of 
the  day  could  prevent  me  from  enjoying  to  the  full  the 
magnificent  country  I  traversed.  During  the  five  hours  I 
was  upon  the  road  I  never  lost  the  keen  sense  of  surprise 
and  admiration  which  I  felt  on  climbing  the  first  rise  of 
land  after  leaving  Nebraska  City.  The  wide,  billowy  green, 
dotted  all  over  with  golden  islands  of  harvest ;  the  hollows 
of  dark,  glittering  maize ;  the  park-like  clumps  of  timber 
along  the  courses  of  streams ;  the  soft,  airy  blue  of  the  dis- 


182  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

4 

tant  undulations ;  these  were  the  materials  which  went  to  the 
making  up  of  every  landscape,  and  of  which,  in  their  sweet, 
harmonious,  pastoral  beauty,  the  eye  never  grew  weary 
Not  even  when  the  sun  burned  with  the  stupefying  fierce 
ness  of  noon,  and  the  vegetation  seemed  to  crisp  and 
shrivel  in  the  fiery  south  wind,  did  I  wish  to  shorten  the 
*journey. 

Brownville  is  a  small,  but  pretty  town,  with  a  decided 
New  England  atmosphere.  By  the  time  I  reached  it,  I 
had  decided  that  this  should  be  my  last  day  of  mere  sight 
seeing,  and  my  last  evening  of  lecture,  in  such  a  tempera 
ture.  I  turned  away  from  the  enticements  of  Pawnee,  and 
other  interior  districts,  and  resolutely  set  my  face  toward 
home.  There  was  no  boat  the  next  day,  but  a  stage  for  St. 
Joseph  (between  eighty  and  ninety  miles  distant)  the  same 
evening ;  consequently  a  splendid  moon,  with  neither  heat 
nor  dust,  for  a  considerable  portion  of  the  way.  At  eleven 
o'clock  I  said  good-by  to  the  friends  who  had  made  my 
short  stay  so  pleasant,  and,  making  a  virtue  of  an  inevitable 
fact,  decided  that  the  night  was  too  beautiful  to  be  spent  in 
slumber. 

The  records  of  the  United  States  Land  Office  at  Brown 
ville  show  that  seventy-one  thousand  acres  were  entered  in 
the  district  during  the  quarter  ending  June  30.  As  two 
thirds  of  this  amount  were  taken  by  actual  settlers  as  home 
steads  ;  as  the  other  districts  of  the  Territory  show  -very 
nearly  an  equal  growth,  and  as  the  business  of  the  present 
quarter,  so  far,  keeps  pace  with  the  last,  it  is  easy  to  esti 
mate  the  increase  of  population  for  the  year.  It  cannot  be 
reckoned  at  less  than  fifteen  thousand,  making  the  present 
population  of  the  Territory  about  seventy-five  thousand. 
When  the  splendid  agricultural  capacities  of  the  country 
are  better  understood,  the  ratio  of  immigration  will  in 
crease.  Nebraska  cannot  much  longer  be  kept  out  of  the 
Union  by  A.  J.'s  one-man  power. 

The  night-journey  was  delicious.     There  was  no  other 


GLIMPSES  OF  NEBRASKA.  "183 

passenger,  and  I  rode  with  the  driver,  a  Union  soldier  from 
Massachusetts,  (how  different  from  my  Rebel  of  the  day 
before !)  for  the  sake  of  society.  The  meadows,  thickets, 
groves,  and  grain-fields  near  at  hand  were  clearly  revealed 
in  the  moonlight,  but  beyond  them  the  scenery  melted  into 
a  silvery  indistinctness.  The  signs  of  dawn  came  only  too 
soon,  for  with  the  first  light  of  day  I  knew  that  the  dewy 
freshness  of  the  air  would  be  lost.  I  still  had  an  entire 
day  of  heat  before  me. 

We  stopped  for  breakfast  at  a  place  called  Rulo  (the 
true  spelling  would  be  Rouleau,  after  the  first  French  set 
tler),  and  then  pushed  onward  toward  the  Kansas  line. 
Across  a  bottom  of  almost  incredible  fertility,  then  a  ferry 
over  the  beautiful  Nemaha  River,  and  we  left  Nebraska 
behind  us.  An  Indian  Reservation  came  next,  and  the 
sight  of  two  gayly  dressed  squaws  on  horseback,  and  two 
naked  boys  trying  to  catch  a  pony,  seemed  to  give  a  totally 
different  character  to  the  scenery.  It  became  again  the 
rich,  free  wilderness. 

During  the  day  I  had  several  fellow-passengers,  —  a  gen 
tleman  from  the  Cherokee  Country,  an  intelligent  and  glo 
riously  loyal  Missouri  lady,  and  several  specimens  of  the 
local  population.  The  road  ran  some  distance  inland  from 
the  river,  climbing  long  swells  whence  there  were  out-looks 
over  ten  or  fifteen  miles  of  magnificent  country.  All  this 
region  is  being  rapidly  settled.  Villages  —  the  sure  sign 
of  permanent  occupation  —  are  springing  up  here  and 
there ;  neat,  substantial  farm-houses  are  taking  the  place 
of  the  original  cabins;  and  hedges  of  Osage  orange  are 
gradually  creeping  around  the  broad  fields.  When  I  first 
saw  the  bottoms  of  the  Kaw  and  Smoky  Hill  Fork,  in 
Kansas,  nearly  two  months  ago,  it  seemed  to  me  that  such 
extraordinary  beauty  and  fertility  must  be  exceptional ; 
but,  last  week,  I  found  the  same  thing  repeated  on  the 
Platte,  all  the  way  from  Cottonwood  to  Omaha.  Now  I 
find  it  in  the  region  intermediate  between  the  two  rivers, 


184  COLORADO:    A  SUMMER  TRIP. 

and  from  what  I  hear  of  the  valleys  of  the  Neosho,  the  Re 
publican,  the  Big  and  Little  Blues,  the  Nemaha  and  Loup 
Fork,  I  am  satisfied  that  what  I  have  seen  is  the  ordinary, 
average  type  of  all  this  country.  I  consider  Kansas  and 
Nebraska,  with  the  western  portions  of  Iowa  and  Missouri, 
as  the  largest  unbroken  tract  of  splendid  farming  land  in 
the  world. 

No  one  of  us  will  live  to  see  the  beauty  and  prosperity 
which  these  States,  even  in  their  rude,  embryonic  condi 
tion,  already  suggest.  The  American  of  to-day  must  find 
his  enjoyment  in  anticipating  the  future.  He  must  look 
beyond  the  unsightly  beginnings  of  civilization,  and  pre 
figure  the  state  of  things  a  century  hence,  when  the  Re 
public  will  count  a  population  of  two  hundred  millions,  and 
there  shall  be  leisure  for  Taste  and  Art.  We  have  now 
so  much  ground  to  occupy,  and  we  make  such  haste  to 
cover  it,  that  our  growth  is  —  and  must  be  —  accompanied 
by  very  few  durable  landmarks.  All  is  slight,  shabby,  and 
imperfect.  Not  until  the  greater  part  of  our  vacant  terri 
tory  is  taken  up,  and  there  is  a  broad  belt  of  settlement 
reaching  from  ocean  to  ocean,  will  our  Western  people 
begin  to  take  root,  consolidate  their  enterprise,  and  truly 
develop  their  unparalleled  inheritance. 

Travelling  all  day  in  a  heat  of  more  than  100°  in  the 
shade  —  the  seventh  day  of  such  an  extreme  temperature 
—  I  hailed  our  approach  to  Elwood,  opposite  St.  Joseph, 
with  inexpressible  relief.  During  the  afternoon  we  met  a 
great  many  emigrant  wagons,  carrying  "  poor  whites  "  from 
Missouri,  Kentucky,  and  perhaps  Tennessee,  to  lands  of 
better  promise.  The  lank,  brown  men  stared  at  us  from 
under  their  wild,  bushy  hair,  with  an  expression  of  ignorant 
wonder ;  the  mothers,  with  their  four  to  six  small,  tow- 
headed  children  (usually  "one  at  the  breast"),  sat  uncom 
fortably  upon  piles  of  antediluvian  furniture,  and  patiently 
endured  heat,  flies,  and  dust.  All  of  these  people  were 
but  one  degree  removed  from  pure  barbarism,  and  their 


GLIMPSES  OF  NEBRASKA.  185 

loyalty  must  have  had  its  root  in  instinct  rather  than 
intelligence. 

If  we  could  diversify  the  course  of  emigration,  it  would 
be  a  great  blessing  to  the  country.  A  current  from  the 
North  to  the  South,  with  a  counter-current  from  the  South 
to  the  North,  would  "  reconstruct "  the  former  Slave  States 
more  solidly  than  any  political  measure.  At  present,  the 
movement  is  too  much  one  way;  and  nothing  shows  the 
narrowness  and  blindness  of  the  Southerners  so  much  as 
their  continued  enmity  toward  the  very  class  of  men  they 
most  need. 

At  six  o'clock  this  evening  I  reached  the  Missouri,  and 
crossed  to  this  place.  Here  I  am  at  one  of  the  termini  of 
railroad  connection  with  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  may  con 
sider  my  travels  at  an  end.  Here  the  picturesque  ceases, 
and  the  tedious  commonplace  begins.  So  here  I  close  my 
communication  with  my  readers,  very  much  more  fatigued 
by  my  experiences  than  I  trust  they  have  been  in  the  read 
ing  of  them,  and  yet  more  refreshed  and  invigorated  than 
the  kindest  of  those  who  have  followed  me  can  possibly  be. 


THE    END. 


3   1175  00353  9601 


